


Questionable

by MonkeyMindScream



Series: Chosen [1]
Category: Super Robot Monkey Team Hyperforce Go!
Genre: Antauri of all people makes questionable decisions, Canon Compliant up to "Night of Fear", Canon Divergence, Chiro and Valina question their places in the universe, Chiro's anxious and wishes Antauri would give him a straight answer for once, Enemies to Friends, Gen, Krinkle out crazies and out dick-bag's them all, Mandarin is a big bag of dicks, Multi, Valina is crazy and sadistic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-22
Updated: 2018-09-18
Packaged: 2019-01-21 15:53:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 37,315
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12461019
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MonkeyMindScream/pseuds/MonkeyMindScream
Summary: The Power Primate is in flux, and it’s dragging both sides of the moral alignment down with it. An alternate take on season four in which the corruption of the Power Primate is more lasting than originally thought, the original Mandarin’s fate is revealed, and Valina’s obsession with Skeleton King is explored.





	1. Where We Stand as of Now

**Author's Note:**

> I find it slightly ridiculous that the whole "Power Primate being corrupted" -thing was completely dropped as soon as it stopped being relevant to the plot, without any kind of fallout. I started out just building on that concept within canon, but unfortunately the desire to be self-indulgent won out and I ended up diverging from it completely. And since I'm here I figured I'd address some of the other plotholes/grievances I have with the series. At it's core, I guess this is basically just all my headcanons set to plot.

Things had been weird in Shuggazoom City. Which in a backwards kind of way actually meant things were perfectly _normal_ , because by definition Shuggazoom was a weird place. Within the last month, there’d been a zombie apocalypse equivalent (with _wraiths_ , which were worse, because you weren’t even safe in the air), genocidal robobugs from the future, and an insane museum curator with great-great-great-great-granddaddy issues. Really, the only thing that offset the recent strangeness from the norm was that none of it had been the work of Skeleton King.

… _directly_. The Skull Sorceress turning the citizens into undead wraiths had technically been done in his _name_ , but he hadn’t actually had a hand in it. 

What it all boiled down to (specifically the museum escapade) was Antauri insisting on a few more group training sessions to keep them all on their game. Which was _perfectly_ fine with Chiro.

“Get ready to have your minds _blown,_ guys,” he said, watching the combat pillars rise from the ground. The Team stood fanned out behind him in O-Formation. “I’ve got some new moves I’ve been wanting to show ya!”

The pillars reached their full height, and in the moment of stillness preceding the weapons activating, Chiro chanced a grin back at his team.

“Check this out!”

The guns began firing, and the Team scattered.

A missile rocketed towards Chiro, which he avoided with a backflip and a flourish. The missile twisted in the air and circled back to him. So Otto _did_ get those new self-locking missiles operational. Impressive. Granted, it wouldn’t help it much. Chiro stood his ground, the missile still advancing, then at the last possible second directed his hands at the floor and yelled, “Monkey Fu!”

The blast propelled him upwards. The missile sailed beneath him, then hit the back wall and detonated. Thank you, inertia!

The ensuing explosion knocked Chiro (still airborne) forward a little, but with a small tuck and roll he still managed a perfectly solid landing. He bounced back to his feet grinning.

“Pretty cool, huh?”

“Very impressive, Chiro,” Antauri said from behind him. Chiro turned to face him, and became abruptly aware of a plasma blast speeding towards his head. It wasn’t until it stopped just centimeters from his face that Chiro noticed his second in command had one of his ghost claws extended towards him. Antauri went on, “But remember to stay focused.”

“I was _totally_ focused!” Chiro insisted, sulking slightly. Being told “stay focused” by Antauri was essentially longhand for ‘stop showing off.’ And he _hadn’t_ been showing off.

…well okay, maybe a _little_ , but still. He’d been plenty “focused” while he did it.

Antauri made a sweeping gesture with his outstretched arm, like he was pitching a ball, and the blast he still held telepathically was sent hurtling across the training room. It careened into a second blast also heading towards them, and both exploded on impact. Antauri leapt into the air, flipping as he did so, and as he righted himself he remained suspended. Both claws outstretched now, he shut his eyes in concentration, and the multitude of missiles swirling around the room froze in midair. As he raised his arms, the missiles paths were directed upwards, then released. They all collided, and exploded spectacularly above all their heads.

Sprx landed next to a pouting Chiro, snickering. “Way to set an example for the kid, Antauri.”

“Better than any you’re giving him,” Nova cut in, bouncing in and out of view as she dodged rapid-fire blasts from one of the guns.

The pout slid off Chiro’s face and over to Sprx’s. Chiro politely hid his amusement by putting his fist in front of his mouth and looking away.

“Antauri does have a point though, Chiro,” Gibson called from above, drawing their attention upwards. With twin flicks of his wrists, lasers were shot from his drills and sliced into several of the guns targeting him. He continued, “Function takes precedence over form when in the midst of battle; if performing the move is going to detract from your awareness, it’s best not to do it.”

Chiro’s pout was back. “I know that!” he said, now falling into step beside Sprx as they moved to take down one of the larger blasters.

“I’m sure,” said Gibson dryly, shooting down two more guns. “Still, you must be sure to pay attention to what’s going on around yo—”

Gibson suddenly cried out as a shot from behind hit his rocket pack, sending him spiraling toward the ground.

Before Chiro could move to catch him, Otto was already there, plucking Gibson out of freefall like a benevolent green hawk. With one quick motion, a saw went flying, took out the offending laser, then retracted on its chain back to the end of Otto’s arm. Sprx was openly laughing by the time Otto landed next to them and placed Gibson on his feet.

“What was that about ‘paying attention,’ Brainstrain?” he asked between breaths.

“You okay, Gibson?” Otto asked in the meantime.

“ _Hypocrites!_ ” Chiro cried (the fact that he was also laughing did not negate his point in the slightest). “You’re all _hypocrites!_ ”

Gibson grumbled something indistinct and glared in the opposite direction.

Chiro’s smile had taken up full residence on his face, and glancing around he saw that Nova and Antauri where standing nearby.

“Hey Team,” he called. “Whaddya say we wrap this up?”

Gibson stopped glaring and stood at attention. Antauri and Nova moved in closer to the group. Otto and Sprx gave grins to match his own.

“Whatever you say Kid,” Sprx said as he and the rest of the Team fell into position.

Chiro’s smile widened. “Hyperforce, GO!”

Sprx and Nova took care of any projectiles aiming from above. Otto and (by necessity) Gibson handled those near the ground. Chiro and Antauri handled everything in between.

Needless to say: Training Simulator – 0, Hyperforce – A Lot.

Chiro surveyed the smoking wreckage of the training room. It hadn’t been a real battle, obviously; just some program that Gibson and Nova had plugged into the system. All the same, Chiro couldn’t hold back the little thrill of accomplishment that spiked in his chest. The Team had won, and they’d won by _a lot._

Otto was glancing around too. “Yeesh, I’m gonna be workin’ on repairs for _days_.”

Sprx smiled apologetically and nudged the mechanic’s shoulder. “Heh, sorry about that big guy.”

“Nah, don’t be,” Otto said, smiling himself now. “That just means we did good, right?”

“Indeed,” Antauri said, reverting back to his floating lotus position now that the simulation was over. “Everyone did very well.”

“Yeah, right up until Brainstrain got bullseye’d right in the rocket pack,” Sprx said, his smile heavily tilting towards a smirk now.

Gibson sputtered. “Well if I hadn’t been trying to explain things to all of _you_ —”

“I thought you were just talkin’ to Chiro?” Otto cut in, head tilted in confusion.

“Yeah, he was. What was it now? ‘Pay attention to what’s going on around you’? And then BOOM _zap!_ ” 

“Oh _honestly_ Sprx—”

“Actually I think it was more of a _psshew!_ ZZZZTT than a ‘BOOM _zap!_ ’”

“ _Otto—_ ”

“Okay maybe the ‘ _psshew!’_ part is closer, but ‘ZZZZTT’ is basically a _‘zap!’_ so my point stands.”

“I dunno,” Nova said (Gibson groaned). “When I hear _zap!_ I think more of a ‘BZZZZ’ than a ‘ZZZZTT.’”

“What’s the difference besides you saying ‘BZZZZ’ at a slightly higher pitch?”

“The _slightly higher pitch,_ you dork.”

“Whatever, ‘BZZZZ’ is still pretty much the same thing. Still counts.”

Chiro, who’d been happily listening to his Team banter, suddenly felt something twitch just beyond the border of his senses.

He faltered where he stood, not understanding what it was he’d just felt. It’d only been for a second, so quick in fact that he wasn’t completely sure that “it” had been real at all. He looked around surreptitiously at his team, trying to see if they’d noticed anything too. Specifically, he looked at Antauri. The rest of the team was still chatting away with each other, apparently (or at least outwardly) none the wiser. Antauri was quiet, his expression neutral, with his head tilted slightly to the side as though considering something.

But then, that wasn’t exactly out of character for Antauri, was it? It wasn’t uncommon for him to remain quiet during casual group discussions, and he was practically always considering something…

Chiro brushed it off, and resumed listening to his teammates (Gibson had finally been dragged in, and was now debating whether or not “NNAAZZT” was a viable sound at all, let alone a subcategory of _zap!_ ). If it was important, Antauri would’ve noticed it. And if Antauri had noticed it, he would’ve said something. It was probably nothing.

* * *

The outskirts of Shuggazoom were essentially barren, save for some stone outcroppings jutting up from the ground. It was a bit too open for anyone hoping to hide themselves; the Zone of Wasted Years was much better suited for that kind of thing. But the Zone was too far away for Mandarin’s needs, and nobody from the city ever really ventured out past its borders anyway. There wasn’t much point in stationing himself all the way out there, at least not as far as he could reason.

He _had_ been stationed in the city, but… apparently they’d developed a completely intolerable bug problem. A huge, robotic, _man-eating_ bug problem. Supposedly, the issue had been resolved (by pure, perfect, blessed _Hyperforce_ ), but he was still keeping well away from the city for the time being. For his own physical well-being, if nothing else.

(To say nothing of his _emotional_ well-being; he’d been on the wrong side of “man-eating” once already, and his nerves were still sufficiently frayed from the experience, thank you.)

Practically speaking, the outskirts offered much more room and privacy. He didn’t have to worry about meddlesome citizens poking their noses into his hiding place, and he had more space to “practice.” Which was advantageous, because he really _needed_ the practice.

Currently, he could be found slowly pushing himself back into a standing position, grumbling venomously. When he’d first found the amulet on the ground, his head had spun with devious possibilities. When he’d tried to actually _use_ it, however, it became clear that brainstorming and practical application were two completely separate things. His attempt at transforming a nearby boulder had resulted in him being blasted several feet away from his target, smashing into one of the nearby outcrops, then finally falling several feet back to the ground. The degree to which he’d failed was irritating enough, but the part that had him gnashing his teeth was that it was the _fifth time_ he’d done that.

Magic was difficult to master on its own (“ _needlessly complicated_ ” was the bitter thought that kept bouncing through his mind); it was made that much _more_ difficult when it had to work in conjunction with an unwilling participant.

“ _Mandarin!_ ” hissed a scathing voice from within the amulet. Speak of the devil. “ _Free me this instant!_ ”

Mandarin shook himself off, pointedly ignored how sore he was becoming, and snarled, “Be silent, witch!” She’d been at it since he’d picked up her amulet, and quite frankly he wasn’t in the mood to deal with it any more.

He had arrived on Shuggazoom several days before the Hyperforce had, though how he’d managed that he couldn’t quite work out. They’d had a fully-functioning ship whereas he’d been piloting the ramshackle remains of a droid; one would think they’d have easily outstripped him. But they hadn’t, for whatever reason, so after hiding his Master’s skull Mandarin had snuck into the city to try to gauge how well the Hyperforce had left it protected in their absence.

Not very well, apparently, considering it was swarming with wraiths when he got there.

As things went, they Hyperforce eventually returned and disposed of the threat. He’d gotten to witness chunks of the battle firsthand, and he’d readily admit he’d groaned in disappointment when it became apparent the Team had won. He’d found the amulet shortly after their victory, however, which was quite unlike his typical luck.

Granted, it also contained the witch, which was more in-keeping with his _usual_ kind of luck.

_“This plan is doomed to fail, simian!”_

Yet another oh-so- _charming_ thing about his new… “partner”? “Colleague”? Whatever – when she wasn’t making useless demands to be released, she was deriding every aspect of his plan she could possibly think of. Mandarin had never been much of a proponent for positive thinking, but he'd heard enough about energies and mindsets to know that the witch’s backtalk didn’t bode well.

He turned the amulet to stare into the darkened gem fastened on the front. The witch’s face was reflected within, glaring at him defiantly. He gave her a scowl to match.

“What aspect of ‘silent’ is lost on you, woman?” he growled.

A few hours ago, that might have sent her into a bout of outraged shrieking. Currently, all she did was roll her eyes disdainfully. He liked to imagine he was wearing her down. “What aspect of _magic_ is lost on _you,_  monkey _?_ I’ve seen _children_ with more control!”

As Mandarin bristled, she went on, “You’re a disgrace for wasting time on petty personal revenges. You _ought_ to be working to resurrect the master. We _both_ should. And yet you hold me here to implement a plan that has failure built into its very core. I can only imagine how disgusted Skeleton King would be with you if he could see this.”

Mandarin’s hand was shaking from how tightly he gripped the amulet. Would the witch feel it if the amulet was shattered while she was still inside? He’d watched it reform after being broken once already; surely it couldn’t hurt to try…

“You know _nothing_ , witch,” he spat. “Did you ever stop to consider that I’m doing the Master a _favor?_ By eliminating the Hyperforce, the Master will have a clear path. He can do whatever he pleases without interruption. Less energy will be wasted trying to deal with them. If anything, he’d be disgusted with _you_ for not taking the opportunity to rid him of his foes when you had the chance.”

The look of disdain melted off Valina’s face, and morphed back to the look of rage she’d been frequenting previously. The amulet emitted a small shock, which startled Mandarin enough that he very nearly dropped it. It wasn't bad, really, no worse than a static shock from a door knob, but the fact that the witch could exercise even a _little_ of her will from within the amulet was a cause of concern in his book.

“Do not presume to tell _me_ how our Master would feel about my actions,” she snarled, low and quiet and with far too much genuine threat than she ought to be capable of, given her position. “The Master’s well-being takes first priority over everything. If his enemies can be disposed of in the process of assuring that, fine, but _never_ try to put the one before the other. Never take the risk that you might be dispatched before you can secure the Master’s position.” She eyed him with disgust, sneering, “Your inability to process that exposes you for the second-rate servant you are.”

Mandarin couldn’t think of what to say for a moment. Just a moment, mind you, it was a rare occasion he was lost for words completely. But sometimes emotions (rage, in this case) made thinking of coherent retorts difficult.

“What, _pray tell_ ,” he finally forced out, “makes you so sure that I’ll be ‘dispatched’? What makes you think that the Hyperforce will possess the ability to fight past their own greatest fears and weaknesses to get close enough? Please, witch, inform me.”

Valina slipped her disdainful mask back on, though this one was perhaps a bit colder than the last. “For starters, your ability to render them in such a state seems to be slightly lacking.” Her gaze slipped over his shoulder to the rock he’d just smashed into. “Unless of course your plan is to stand with your back to them and use yourself as a projectile. I’ll admit, the sight will probably give them pause for a moment, but I severely doubt it’ll qualify as any of their ‘greatest fears’ or ‘weaknesses’.”

Mandarin, being dead, had blessedly lost the ability to have blood rush to his face, so there were no outward signs of what he was feeling. There was still a hot, uncomfortable lump coiling in his stomach and chest regardless.

“Well perhaps if you would just _cooperate—_ ”

She cut him off with a smile that was utterly lacking in mirth and said, “I’ve been given no reason to.”

Mandarin glared at her poisonously for a few sustained seconds, shaking, but rather than respond, he took a deep breath, let the amulet fall back to his chest, and stomped back over to the boulder he’d been working on. He had _plenty_ of retorts he wanted to give her that time, but none of them were things he could say in polite company (most of them regarding what she could do with and/or to herself). And he couldn’t stomach the thought of the witch having evidence of how far past his wit’s end she’d dragged him.

A part of him, the sore, tired, frustrated part, weighed the option of doing as she asked and releasing her, then working to resurrect the Master. He’d have to do it eventually _anyway_ , and he was getting virtually nowhere with his current plan. He forcefully told that part of himself all the things he’d wanted to say to Valina. She’d made a point to be as difficult as possible to work with; he’d follow her lead, and prove her wrong in the meantime.

…moreover, the fact that he hadn’t immediately released her had left the witch rather… _incensed._ He very much doubted she’d let that little slight go unpunished, even if he were to get down on his knees and tell her she’d been right all along and he was _sorry_ (which, for the record, he had no intention of _ever_ doing). And – loathe as he was to admit it – the thought of what she’d do to him should she get the chance wasn’t something he liked to dwell on. He refused to attach the word “afraid” to the thought, but… still… if he absolutely _had_ to pick an adjective…

He shook his head. It wasn’t anything he had to worry about right now. The witch was securely trapped within her amulet; she couldn’t hurt him from there. What he needed to do at present was pin down how this magical _mess_ worked.

With that, he widened his stance a bit, once again took hold of the amulet, and took aim at the boulder. He managed to hold the mauve beam steady for a full three seconds before losing control again. The flow of magic abruptly increased beyond what he could control, and he was once again blown off his feet. He landed in a heap, and heard Valina cackling through the ringing in his ears.

* * *

Gyrus Krinkle knelt alone in the middle of a deserted cityscape, alone save for the large piece of machinery with which he was currently tinkering. As he tightened a bolt, he reflected on how escaping from one’s own mindscape was both very simple and yet excruciatingly complicated all at the same time.

Krinklezoom – the lovely, wondrous utopia he’d built up from the ashes of his own misery – had been torn down to its foundations by the Hyperforce’s attack. All that remained were ruins that would occasionally flicker in and out of reality, distorting and twisting as they went. There weren’t any citizens left either. All his fans and admirers were gone. He didn’t know where to.

The Neuro-Matter Reconfignatron had malfunctioned, that much was obvious. The machine was designed to convert matter into thought-waves, but it needed something to direct it to do so. The closest comparison he could think of would be a computer needing a program to run. With the port implanted in the back of his head, he’d been able to connect to the machine and use his own mind as the make-shift program. So when the Hyperforce – _turncoats, backstabbers, traitors_ – had attacked the fissures caused by undue stress in his mindscape, the Reconfignatron’s directive must have gotten scrambled. Instead of converting the matter his mind told it to convert, it had tried to convert his mind _itself_ , and then absorbed his physical body when it wasn’t able to.

That was the best he could figure, anyway. It would explain why he wasn’t able to _leave_ his mindscape anymore, at least. Either that or his body was just lying comatose somewhere…

He kind of hoped it was. He hoped his body was in some hospital – a _real_ hospital, not the health station at Ranger 7 – hooked up to all sorts of life support. Somewhere the Hyperforce could see it. Somewhere they could cry and snivel and _sob_ over it, “ _If only we’d just let him be on the Team! He’d only ever had the best intentions! What have we done, what have we done—?!”_

Gyrus wasn’t sure what upset him more: the Team’s treachery, or the loss of his paradise. The destruction of Krinklezoom meant there was nowhere left for him to hide. He’d be forced to go back out into the “real world” and endure the rampant idiocy and small-mindedness of his species. On the other hand, the reason Krinklezoom was even lost in the first place was because of the Monkey Team’s betrayal. The same Monkey Team who he’d dedicated his entire life to. Who he’d always looked up to and supported to the best of his ability. Who he’d never asked for anything _from_ , apart from simply wanting to be their teammate.

He cranked his wrench much harder than he had previously.

Whether his body had or hadn’t been absorbed into the Neuro-Matter Reconfignatron wasn’t really his concern. His consciousness was trapped in the last crumbling vestiges of the mindscape he’d created, so his first priority was getting his consciousness back out. And the best way he could think to do _that_ was to retrace his steps. He’d been brought here by a machine that transformed matter into thought-waves, so to leave he’d need a machine that could transform thought-waves into matter. If his body _had_ been absorbed by the machine, then this machine ought to get it to spit it back out. If it hadn’t, all he had to do was make sure the new machine had a frequency matching the old one, and the import in his head should ensure that his mind was returned to its proper place.

Gyrus set his wrench on the ground and began fiddling with some wiring. The new Matter-Neuro Reconfignatron was almost identical to the Neuro-Matter, but where the Neuro-Matter had a colorful assortment of lights that flashed during activation, the Matter-Neuro only had white. He reached back down to his wrench, but when he raised it back up it had become a screwdriver. He tightened a few screws in the back, then after a moment resumed working on bolts with what was now a wrench again.

Whatever else this wasteland had become, it was still _his_ world, and it still bent and shaped itself in accordance to his desires. If he needed a part, all he had to do was think of it and it would appear. Granted, the effect it wasn’t as instantaneous as it had been. Now it took several seconds for the changes to take effect, and he had to really focus to get things how he wanted them. Most irritatingly, he apparently could only do things in small bursts. He’d tried to create the Matter-Neuro already completed and ready to use, but he’d gotten a horrible pain in the back of his head and the world around him had fizzled and blurred. It was only for a second, but it was enough to put him off trying it again. Instead he had to think it up part by part, and then put those parts together one at a time.

He bumped a wire and jumped at the shock it gave him, snarling. The worst part of it was that things were slowly beginning to act how he knew they _ought_ to act, rather than how he _wanted_ them to. Soon this place would be no better than the reality he hated.

To have such a wonderful, pure place perverted in such a way… it almost made him sick.

He set the wrench aside again, and with a heft he lifted a grate from the ground and fitted it onto the hole at the front of the machine. He screwed it into place, then took a step back to look over his work. Everything on its exterior seemed in order, and he knew for a fact that there was nothing wrong with the _in_ terior…

Satisfied, Gyrus turned around to take a final look at his ruined dreamland. He regretted it almost immediately, because what he saw broke his heart. He steeled himself and kept looking anyway. Once he left, he’d likely never be able to return. He owed the city this much.

Krinklezoom had once been a vibrant, sparkling place. Now – though the remains were still painted the same eye-catching colors as before – everything seemed gray and desolate. Gyrus could see old man Krinkslapper’s burger shop just down the street. Once a lively, bustling trade, it now lay abandoned, the front counter smashed and crumbling. Old man Krinkslapper had had a particular fondness for Gyrus, and had insisted that all his burgers where on the house. “It’s the least I can do for Krinklezoom’s greatest hero!” he’d said, time and again (he’d always thrown in an extra helping of fries, too). Ma and Pa Krinko’s arcade now lay in shambles, the games’ screens all cracked and dusty. Ma had always called him “dear” and offered him baked goods whenever she saw him. Pa had told him at least thrice that he thought of him as the son he’d never had. The holographic ice-cream parlor was in pieces, the ice-cream long since melted in its tubs, and the electrical equipment sparking every now and then. With an odd little choke Gyrus realized he’d never get the chance to try their newest flavor. The owner had promised him the first scoop.

He felt cruel, abandoning the city like this, but there was nothing left for him here. It was his job to protect the city, but there wasn’t much of a city left to protect. There were no _people_ left to protect, either, nor really anything to protect them _from_. What was the point of a hero with nothing to save or defend?

He should still say something, he decided. Even if there wasn’t anyone left to hear it…

“City of Krinklezoom,” he began loudly. “The time has come where your beloved hero must leave you. Take heart in that he will not remember you as the dilapidated wasteland you’ve become, but as the shining utopia you once were. He—” Gyrus faltered, emotions starting to get the better of him, “— _I,_ will not let your destruction go unpunished. You will be _avenged_. The perpetrators of this heinous crime will be made to see the error of their ways, and they will forever carry your obliteration as a scar on their souls.” He straightened to a noble, commanding posture, and bellowed to the empty mindscape, “Your Hyperforce shall be made to atone for what they’ve done to you! I, Gyrus Krinkle, rightful leader of the Super Robot Monkey Team, swear it!”

If there had been any citizens left, this is the part where they all would have started cheering. They always cheered at his speeches. He was very good at them. Since there weren’t any, however, only silence answered his heroic declaration.

Gyrus spun on his heel and began punching a code into the number pad secured at the front of the machine. It revved a moment, then the lights came on. The arms near the top began swinging slowly before picking up speed. Suddenly all the lights flashed a blinding white, he couldn’t move for a second (his body felt strangely heavier somehow), then…

Gyrus opened his eyes to find himself _not_ in a comfortable hospital bed, surrounded by a now relieved and humbled Hyperforce, but on the cold floor of Ranger 7’s basement, completely alone.

He’d only been back for three seconds, and reality had already managed to let him down. _Typical_.

* * *

A hole had been slashed in his gut, but there was no blood. What came instead was thick and black and sticky and congealed oddly, forming dozens of tiny globs that writhed around in the wound like maggots. Retching, he jerkily tried to brush them off. Some fell to the ground with tiny splats, but more oozed up to take their place. He could feel them wriggling sluggishly under his skin, making him scratch and squirm. If he were to peel back the skin of the wound he’d see they’d replaced his insides, that all that was left were hundreds of these little _worms_ ready to devour him from the inside out—

The Hyperforce stood silently in a circle around him. They didn’t speak, they didn’t move, they merely observed.

_Don’t think about it._

His legs wobbled.  The hole _hurt._ It hurt so bad it threatened to make his knees buckle, and his frenzied attempts rid himself of the black maggots left him feeling shaky and exhausted. He crashed to his knees and, suddenly violently nauseous, vomited all over the ground. It was more of the worms, he could _taste_ them now, and it was so vile he gagged again. Even more splattered to the ground.

He could see the Hyperforce out of the corner of his eye.  Their eyes had become blank and unseeing, arms opened wide as they hung suspended above the ground. Their mouths were opened impossibly wide, the screaming, _the screaming_ – Huge insects with long, spindly legs and wormy bodies scuttled out from the darkness and forced their way down their throats – the _sounds,_ the way they choked and gagged—! The Team stretched and got bigger, their hands lengthened to claws, their eyes became hollow, empty holes—

_Focus, don’t get dragged down, just focus. Stay calm._

He was impossibly dizzy, and when he tried to stand again he stumbled back down. The screaming continued, though he wasn’t sure from where anymore. What was left of the Hyperforce had gone silent. He curled into a ball and covered his ears. Too much, too many sounds, panic swelling as much as he tried to keep it down, his own thoughts adding to the cacophony around him—

_Stay calm stay calm stay calm—_

Claws seized his arm and lifted him into the air. The green formless – no, it was Otto, it was _both_ – held him aloft, staring straight into his eyes with its hollow sockets while the rest closed in around them. The black one – _not Antauri, not Antauri_ – outstretched its arm and wrapped its claws around his torso. With a clench of its fist there was another spurt of black, sticky maggots and a cracking of ribs.

 _This isn’t real it’s a lie it’s a lie_ **it’s a lie** _—_

He did something he’d never done before – not in this place, anyway; blind fear usually prevented him from doing much – He lashed out and drove his foot into the face of the green one.

Something twitched. Something burned. Everything blurred.

He landed hard on his back, and for a single confused second he wondered why they’d dropped him. Then he was hit with an alarming sense of clarity – he hadn’t realized how dazed and muddled he’d felt before – and without being told he understood that he was _out_.

He threw himself into a sitting position and saw an old, dilapidated box sitting in a corner across from him. Its legs lay in crumpled heaps next to it, its crankshaft was motionless at its side, and its horrible painted face stared forward, unseeing.

Hands and feet scrabbled at the ground to get as far away from the godforsaken box as possible. It looked dead right now but what if, _what if_ —

If he went back in, he’d never be coming back out. Of that he was emphatically sure. He’d used up all his energy and willpower to escape this one time. A second attempt was unthinkable. 

The way out of… _wherever_ he’d been stashed was long and twisted. It wasn’t until after getting hopelessly lost and devolving into a shaking fit that he recognized it as the basement of the cloning factory. And even _that_ did little to help his sense of direction, as he realized that he could only barely remember the factory’s layout anyway. Unhelpfully, it also looked radically different when viewed from closer to the ground. He eventually managed to locate a flight of stairs, but the trapdoor at the top obstinately refused to move. Even throwing his full weight against it – which wasn’t much anymore, granted – he couldn’t get it to budge.

When two more attempts yielded the same results, his shaking resumed and his breathing quickened. The box was still down here with him. It could come around the corner any second now. He could hear – or imagined he could hear – the creaking of its wooden limbs over the pounding of his own heart. It crept closer and closer and closer, coming to recapture him and hold him forever where he could never escape—

Again he threw himself against the trapdoor, and this time when it didn’t move he felt something other than blind terror. This time he felt _angry_. He slammed himself against it _again,_ and then realized how stupid he was being. He retreated a few paces, took a deep breath and closed his eyes (he was still shaking but he didn’t care, it didn’t matter), and when his eyes flew open again there was a burst of green light and a roaring in his ears.

The trapdoor exploded open with a _bang,_ and a pain in the core of his entire being made stumble and fall back down a few stairs.

The Power Primate… had never done _that_ before.

His back burned from where he’d hit the stairs, and when he staggered upright he had to work to get back the air that had been knocked out of him. He didn’t dwell on it, instead focusing on the fact that he could see _sky_ outside the door now. When his shaking limbs' protests of _'_ _we can't go any further'_ could no longer be ignored, he slumped to the ground, and finally worked to quell his shaking.

He’d made it. He was out. He was free.

Mandarin buried his face in his hands and tried to take deep, even breaths. It was harder than it should have been. For some reason, they kept coming out irregular.


	2. One Wrench in Far Too Many Works

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And thus we reach the "divergence" of the "Canon Divergence" tag up above.

When concerned with something, meditation was usually enough to put Antauri’s anxieties into perspective. Clearing his mind usually left the path to a solution similarly clear, or at least calmed him down enough to pretend it did. In any case, broadcasting his apprehension only served to make the rest of the Team worry (apparently his say was more final than the others’), so it was usually prudent to swallow any such feelings when he got them, one way or another.

There were times, though, when meditation wasn’t enough to set his mind at ease, and he was forced to retreat to his room to fret in private. Now, for instance.

Antauri sat suspended above the floor, arms and legs crossed tightly. Before he’d become fully mechanical, he’d had a habit of worrying his lip when particularly bothered by something. The tic had been particularly egregious when he’d been training on Koraladol, and at the suggestion of the Mystics he’d trained himself out of the habit. (For the most part. He didn’t feel it should count when he was alone.) It was just as well, anyway. If being his worried was going to have such a negative effect on those around him, he really couldn’t afford to have any tells. But currently the desire to bite the lip he no longer had was tugging desperately at him, and he’d catch himself trying to do so shortly after reminding himself that he _couldn’t_ anymore.

It was happening again _._

He’d first felt it several days ago, shortly after the Team had finished a training simulation. It had been small, almost to the point he could fool himself he hadn’t felt anything. Then later that night he was jerked out of recharge by a pain in his core, and he could neither dismiss nor ignore what it meant.

Something was wrong with the Power Primate. _Again_.

As if the universe was making sure he understood _yes, this is exactly what you think this is_ , breakfast the next morning found Sprx loudly griping that he’d woken up in the middle of the night for some stupid reason, he hadn’t been able to get back to sleep until about daybreak, and he was _exhausted_ , so don’t expect too much from him today. Nova then promptly told him to quote-unquote “put a sock in it,” because the same thing had happened to her, and he didn’t see her complaining, did he? Sprx made a joke about them being “connected.” She appreciated it about as much as she ever appreciated his jokes. He was only just barely saved from getting his head dunked in his oatmeal by Gibson scoffing and saying that both he and Otto had gone through something similar. Something loud had probably gone off in the night and they’d all heard it without realizing. Chiro kept trying to silently catch Antauri’s eye as the rest of the Team talked.

They’d all felt it too. They hadn’t understood the significance of what they’d felt (besides perhaps Chiro) but they’d felt it.

Antauri drummed his fingers against the upper part of his arm ( _there’s no lip to bite, stop trying_ ). It had started this way last time, too: Pinpricks of something _wrong_ that he was only able to identify thanks to his training with the Veran Mystics. He’d been trying to sense his way to the source on his own when things got out of hand, and it was only then he thought to seek council from the Mystics.

(He wondered, frequently, uselessly, what would have happened if he’d sought them out when he’d first noticed something amiss. Would he have been able to convince Xan to not follow Skeleton King? Would he have been able to stop the corruption before it had gotten to the point it had? Would that have been enough to stop the awakening of the Dark One Worm? Would he still have ended up completely—?)

( _Stop trying to bite your lip, it’s not there anymore!_ )

The timespan between feeling “pinpricks” and pain had been much greater last time. It had taken months to escalate that far before. This time it had – to quote Sprx – “gone from 0 to 80” over the course of a few hours. This suggested that not only was something wrong, it was somehow _worse_.

Antauri wasn’t usually one to pace. For him, mindless movement often had the direct opposite of its desired effect. It made him feel chaotic and unfocused, which only made his stress levels rise. But sitting still at the current juncture was only serving to make him feel trapped. His room felt too small and stifling, the walls were continually drawing closer, soon he wouldn’t be _able_ to move—

He uncrossed his arms and legs and clasped his hands behind his back, floating from one end of the room to the other. There. Not trapped at all. The room was the same size it ever was. Be calm.

(It was unfortunate, really, that almost all the calming exercises he knew of required lungs.)

The last time this had happened, it had been a precursor to the Dark Ones’ attempted uprising. Should the pattern hold true, the universe would once again be in dire peril. Sooner rather than later, if the situation’s rate of degeneration was any indicator. But that wasn’t really the root of Antauri’s concerns, was it?

Even without conventional insides, he could still feel shame burn hot in his chest and gut. The Dark Ones were the greatest and most direct threat to the known universe, and wasn’t protecting that universe why the Hyperforce was created in the first place? What did it say about Antauri’s priorities that doing so fell second on his list?

His metal brow furrowed. His priorities had been just _fine_ until Xan had brought Chiro into it…

_“I’ve even seen your precious ‘Chosen One’ fall before the might of the Dark Ones!”_

And there it was, there was what his mind kept circling back around to. Standing in the pristine, innermost chamber of the Verans with Xan looming over him, telling him Chiro’s fate was sealed in the worst way possible. Nausea had twisted in his gut, and even as he denied it, told Xan he was wrong, yelled into the deepest recesses of his own mind that it _wasn’t true_ , there were too many factors in its favor to be ignored.

For one, Xan’s ability to foresee the future was uncanny in its accuracy. For most of the Order, the future came to them in fragmented bits, if it came at all. It was not a widely dispersed skill. Even Antauri struggled to master it, and to this day could only really “see” things that were presently happening. What was more, even if one _could_ foresee events yet to come, there was no way to tell if the bits they saw even belonged to the same future. It was entirely possible to catch snippets occurring across a number of possible outcomes. Xan, as befitting a High Mystic, could not only narrow down his visions to a singular event, but it was very nearly always the _right_ one. And in the off chance that it wasn’t, there was still quite often some detail that corroborated what he had attested would happen.

Antauri had refused to believe that the Dark Ones would destroy Chiro. He refused to _let_ the Dark Ones destroy Chiro. So when Chiro had taken off to face Skeleton King and his master alone, Antauri had taken chase without waiting for the rest of the Team. It wasn’t until after he’d gotten down there that the pieces began to click sickeningly into place.

He remembered feeling… _numb_. At least at first. Desperation would come, but the knowledge of what needed to be done robbed him of the ability to feel much of anything initially. Perhaps his psyche was giving him time to process all the information. The Dark One’s egg needed to be sealed, that much had been immediately obvious. It occurred to him, as he grappled against Skeleton King, that he knew the exact ritual that could be used to do so. It was strictly meant to be a last resort, as the sheer amount of power that would be used during the process would completely overwhelm the user. There would be nothing left of them. It was an intensely difficult procedure to complete, moreover, relying not only on raw power, but also focusing more on instinct and determination rather than technical knowledge. A person could study for years and still be unable to complete the process if those three things didn’t come naturally to them. And he realized, as he lay on the ground, trying to make his body do what he told it to do after Mandarin stabbed him, that Chiro had each in spades.

Xan, either from whatever mad state of delusion he’d succumbed to or from arrogance born from being right one too many times, must have misinterpreted his vision. Chiro wasn’t supposed to fall _to_ the Dark Ones. He was supposed to fall _defeating_ the Dark Ones.

Desperation kicked in, cold and all-encompassing, as he pushed his body still harder to respond – _get up, do something, help him, stop this!_ – but it was an agonizing struggle just to sit up. Chiro fought against the Dark One alone, the Team came to help only to be beaten back, and he could only sit there uselessly. Fine then, if his body wasn’t going to be of any help, he’d use his mind. There was never just _one_ way in or out of a situation, Antauri had learned that much. As he watched his Team stare at the emerging Dark One with horrified, terrified awe, it struck him what the “other way” _was_.

And then he’d felt calm. He almost wanted to say he’d even smiled, because once he thought of it, it seemed obvious.

The Dark Ones wanted the Power Primate? _Needed it_ , apparently, considering the lengths Skeleton King had gone to to corrupt it? So be it. He’d give it to them. They could take it – take _him_ – to the darkest parts of the Abyss and _rot_ , but they wouldn’t get Chiro. Not so long as he had breath in his body.

… _but you don’t have any breath_ left _, do you Antauri?_

He almost didn’t notice his feet had touched the floor, floating forgotten as strode from one corner to the other, pace becoming more agitated.

Antauri had thought that with the Dark One Worm destroyed, Xan’s vision would be rendered null. To a degree, anyway. He’d hoped that perhaps since Chiro had been the one to ultimately activate the detonation sequence that destroyed it, it could count towards him defeating the Dark One. He’d even technically “fallen” when it had swallowed him; he’d just happened to stand back up. But if the Power Primate was deteriorating again, did that mean that another Dark One was set to rise? It would mean that Xan had been referring to a completely separate instance when he foretold Chiro’s demise, but that wasn’t a concept that surprised Antauri. In all his wisdom, the Mystic had always been infuriatingly cryptic.

He wanted to hate him. Perhaps he did, just a little bit, despite his numerous teachings that hatred only served to blind a person. Or maybe he hated himself for the fruitless desire that he was still _there_ , because Antauri had no clue how to proceed and needed guidance. One way or another, there was pain when he thought of him.

It didn’t even have to be _Xan_ in this instance, any of the Order would do. Just so long as there was someone he could converse with. Someone who wouldn’t become disquieted at his asking for counsel, because _he_ was supposed to have all the answers, and if _he_ didn’t know what to do then who would? But no, the Veran Mystics had collapsed with Xan’s death. He wondered now, actually, just how involved they’d been in Xan’s madness. Surely they couldn’t have known about it? Surely, _surely_ if they had, they would have stopped him? They wouldn’t have… they wouldn’t have _followed_ him into the darkness just because he was the High Mystic?

But then (and Antauri _despised_ the little voice in his head that always seemed to pipe up whenever he was trying to assume the best), the rest of the Verans would have had a difficult time _not_ knowing what Xan was up to. Unlike Antauri, who’d been solar systems away, Xan would have been working directly under their noses. The sad truth of the matter was, likely, they would have felt they had plenty of reasons to go along with Xan. All-knowing, all-seeing, _powerful_ Master Xan.

Xan was supposed to have been the wisest of the Order. He’d been the High Mystic, he’d taught Antauri everything he knew, trained him before Antauri had even known there was such a thing as the Hyperforce, much less that he had a place on it. He wasn’t supposed to have given into darkness, or been lured into it, or whatever it was that had happened. He was supposed to have been above such things, he was supposed to have been infallible, he was supposed to be there when Antauri needed _help—_

Antauri gave himself a hard mental shake and stopped pacing. He was panicking, which would get him exactly nowhere. What he needed was to slow down and think critically. Synthetically calm, he allowed himself to rise from the ground, loosely crossing his legs and entering a lotus position. The best way to find a solution to a problem was to first identify the source. Previously, the source had been Skeleton King. Having since been destroyed, he could safely be eliminated as a suspect. This left one of two options: either there was some hitherto unknown Evil picking up where Skeleton King had left off, or the current problem was a continued result of Skeleton King’s work the first time.

The Skull Sorceress was the most likely candidate for the former. Antauri had assumed that after getting trapped in her own amulet and then having that amulet _smashed_ , the witch would no longer be a cause for concern. But then again, he’d assumed she wouldn’t be a cause for concern when she’d fallen in a pit of ooze and apparently drowned. Perhaps he should stop assuming enemies were neutralized until he actually _saw_ them die…

The latter was a possibility Antauri wasn’t prepared to consider yet. If it truly was the Skull Sorceress causing the corruption this time, then hypothetically the solution could be as simple as disposing of the threat. The Power Primate had seemed to return to normal after Skeleton King had been destroyed, so the theory had some weight behind it. If it _wasn’t_ the witch, though… if it wasn’t, Antauri was lost. He had no idea how else to stop the corruption. He wasn’t even sure how Skeleton King had managed to corrupt it in the first place.

( _Another pang for the Mystics, and his lip still wasn’t there_ )

Well. Whatever the case, needlessly fretting over mere possibilities would do nothing to solve the problem. What he needed to do was see if there was any way he could confirm the theory that this was the Skull Sorceress’s doing. Even if he only came to learn that it _wasn’t_ her work… that was still progress. He’d just have to work out where to go from there should he reach that point.

A sudden knock on his door jolted him out of his thoughts. It had been a long time since something had managed to sneak up on him; in a way that startled him more than the actual noise did. He arranged his face into a mask of neutrality, and said, “Come in.”

Otto poked his head in not a second later. “Hiya Antauri! So um, Sprx and Gibson should be finishing their patrol pretty soon, and then we were all gonna talk about what we want for dinner. Me, Chiro, and Nova were gonna go wait outside for ‘em since it’s nice. Wanna come?”

For a moment, Antauri had an overwhelming desire to decline. He couldn’t face the Team right now, surely they’d notice something off about him and ask questions. _Chiro_ would notice something, and what would he say if _he_ asked questions—?

“Certainly, Otto. Shall we go now?”

Otto smiled and nodded. “Yep! Nova and Chiro already headed down. Let’s go!”

Antauri uncrossed his legs and floated after him, trying not to fidget. Sequestering himself away from the Team would draw more attention than being around them ever would. He simply needed to appear unbothered so as not to arouse suspicion. Shouldn’t be too difficult, he told himself. He’d done it countless times before, after all.

( _No lip_ )

He had to find out if the Skull Sorceress was still an active threat, and neutralize her if she was. He knew of at least one of her potential haunts, thanks to past experience. He could start there.

He would go later that night, he decided, floating silently next to Otto. While the rest of the Team was asleep. No point involving them in something that amounted essentially to reconnaissance…

* * *

Mandarin was feeling exceptionally pleased with himself that evening. It had taken days of nonstop practice – and he was more than a little bruised because of it – but he’d done it. He’d gotten the stupid amulet to work how he wanted it to.

Part of his issue had actually been he’d been too focused on offense. He’d wanted his enemies to suffer (still did), but he’d been tunnel-visioning on the pain aspect of it. He’d been pouring too much of his rage and hatred into the spells he attempted, and the results had been… well, overwhelming. (Actually, if the power of the spells were quantitative depictions of the _amounts_ of rage and hatred he possessed, he had more than even he’d realized.) It had been a rookie mistake, really, and he acknowledged that. There were so many other, creative ways to cause anguish than just _pain,_ after all. His entire plan hinged on that concept in first place.

The trick, he learned, was to channel the emotion you wanted your opponents to feel. In this case, fear. His opinion on magic was restored a bit when he realized it. It meant that people like _Chiro_ , who’d never truly suffered one day in their entire measly lives, wouldn’t have been able to produce spells with much power. Mandarin, on the other hand, who _had_ (and was far more deserving of the power anyway), _would_.   

As an added bonus, the witch had gone mostly silent. Probably still sulking at his success. _Ha!_

He was back in the city now. The sun would be setting soon enough, and he intended to implement his plan that night. Now was as good a time as any to get in a few practice runs.

There was a small blonde girl absently mulling around outside the ice cream parlor, holographic ice cream cone in hand. Mandarin had to question why she was still hanging around the establishment when she already _had_ her accursed treat, but oh well. Sitting duck, thy name is Ice Cream Girl.

When he was absolutely certain there was no one looking, Mandarin took aim, focused, and fired.

The scoop tremored. The girl stopped her delighted licking and stared at it for a moment, confused. Within seconds, the ice cream expanded to four times its original size and opened its newly developed mouth, roaring.

Also there were copious amounts of electrical sparks coming off of it for some reason. Mandarin chose not to question it.

The girl gave a high-pitched scream, dropped the snack, and sprinted off in the opposite direction. The ice cream continued to wail from the ground, but didn’t give chase. Mostly because it was ice cream, and ice cream didn’t often do that sort of thing.

Mandarin continued on like this for a while, mostly to kill time until the sun went down. One man who’d been sitting on a park bench hallucinated the bench had been teleported hundreds of feet into the air, and was precariously perched on a precipice, set to fall at any moment. Nothing that his confused and concerned wife said could calm him down. A girl perhaps a few years older than Chiro began babbling extremely personal information to the boy sitting to her left, who until that point had been inching his hand closer to hers. Apparently she’d had a bed-wetting problem until only just last year. Yikes. A young man who looked to be in his early twenties saw the specter of middle-aged woman telling him his financial aid had fallen through, and he owed ten grand by next semester. …Mandarin wasn’t entirely sure what to think of that one.

 _“Having fun?”_ sneered the amulet, disgusted. The witch had broken her silence. _Joy_.

Well, no matter. His mood was high enough where even Valina’s snide tone couldn’t touch it. His victory was all but assured, and his enemies would go down in a blaze of humiliation and terror. There was no real reason to allow himself to get drawn into her childish sniping.

As such, he shot back, as cheerfully as he was ever like to get, “I rather am, Witch. Join me, won’t you?”

The witch made a sound caught somewhere between outrage and repulsion. “It’s bad enough you plan to waste time with the Hyperforce; must you add to it by toying with these _mortals?_ ”

Mandarin snickered darkly. “ _Practice_ , Witch, merely practice.”

Valina said something else (no doubt as scathing as anything else to come out of her horrid mouth), but Mandarin didn’t hear a word of it. At that moment something _large_ whooshed past overhead, momentarily drowning out all other sound. He looked up, and saw Fist Rocket 3 jettisoning through the air, doing loops and corkscrews as it went. His heart did a few funny little maneuvers to match. _Evening patrol. Perfect timing._

“You want me to get to task, Witch?” he whispered, carefully retreating back into the shadows. Shuggazoomians were now flocking out onto the streets, cheering and waving their arms at the aircraft swooping around overhead. Ugh, it was like watching a bunch of trained _dogs_ yapping for a treat…

Mandarin ignored them. Eyes glued to the Fist Rocket above, he grinned. “As you wish.”

* * *

If asked, Sprx wouldn’t have been able to explain how flight worked exactly. Gibson had tried explaining it to him a few times, and contrary to what _he_ might say, Sprx had genuinely tried to listen to him (that time, anyway). He’d managed to retain a couple factoids – it had something to do with _principles_ and _laws of motion_ or something – but often the most coherent answer he could offer was “it’s got something to do with wind.” The less coherent answers involved a lot of hand gestures and sound effects.

Bottom line, don’t ask him how the process worked. He didn’t have much to offer much in that regard. Now should he be asked how it _felt_ , that was a different story entirely.

Freefall was a rush unmatched by anything he’d experienced in his entire life. Which, considering what his life was like, wasn’t a claim he made lightly. Pulling up from it was almost just as good, because there was always a moment where it felt like the gravity he was fighting against might _win_ and drag him back to the ground, followed by the ultimate satisfaction of overcoming it. The _view_ was always to die for. It didn’t matter what was on it, he didn’t know any sane person who could pass up a look at the far-off horizon.

Considering everything (and considering that for once nothing was, y’know, _shooting_ at him), he didn’t see how he could be expected to _not_ take advantage of being in the open air. He had to do at least a _few_ maneuvers. Who _wouldn’t_ in his position?

Dr. Brainstrain, that’s who.

“ _Sprx_ ,” crackled his commlink as he pulled up next to Fist Rocket 4. He rolled his eyes and crossed his arms behind his head, already knowing where this was headed. _Party pooper._

“We’re supposed to be _patrolling the city,_ ” Gibson chided (called it), “not _performing an airshow._ ”

Sprx snorted. “Hey, turn your pilot’s license in for a bus pass if you want to, Gibson.” He leaned forward, reclaiming his controls. “But _I_ was born to fly.” And with another burst of speed, Fist Rocket 4 was left in the proverbial dust.

Sprx sped forward, shuffling through flight maneuvers in his head, trying to pick out his next stunt. There was a skyscraper rising up in front of him, but he wasn’t too worried about it, he had plenty of time to move. A Vertical could work. Kinda boring though… Maybe he could spice it up by adding an Immelmann at the end. A Tailslide? Or maybe a Snap Roll—

Everything suddenly blurred before his eyes.

Sprx blinked, surprised, but his vision didn’t clear. He blinked a few more times. Still nothing.

“What gives?” he muttered to himself, rubbing at his eyes for a few seconds.  Okay. There we go, that’s better. He could see clearly again and that was the skyscraper that was the skyscraper wait waitwait _wait_ _that was the skyscraper wait no move move move MOVE—!!_

Guess he was going for the Vertical after all.

He didn’t realize Gibson was talking to him until the scientist was about three words in. Honestly he was surprised he was able to hear anything over his own heart, given how hard it was beating. That was a little too much rush for him. That probably filled his rush-quota for the next six months, actually.

All he picked up from Gibson was “navigational problems?”

“No!” Sprx said, far too quickly. He hastily tried to amend himself, saying, “I-it’s nothing. I’m—”

But just then something _writhed_ inside of Sprx, and he was invaded by such a sense of _wrong_ and _bad_ and _no_ that his entire body jerked, and the Fist Rocket swerved left. He distantly heard Gibson gurgle over the other end of the commlink, and then there was a shattering crunch. The world bucked, and Sprx was tossed around the cockpit at its behest. The last thing he was aware of was the sensation of freefall.

There was a second, catastrophic crunching sound.

* * *

Antauri’s eyes snapped open.

Otto, Chiro, and Nova had been talking with each other – about their past foes, specifically, and who each thought had been the most formidable – but they’d suddenly gone quiet and wide-eyed, glancing at each other, alarmed and confused.

“Did… did anybody else feel that?” Nova asked hesitantly.

“Yeah, that was… uh, that was…” But apparently Otto couldn’t find the words to appropriately describe “that,” because he trailed off and resumed glancing nervously between his teammates.

Chiro, on the other hand, was only bothering to look at _one_ of his teammates. “Antauri, what was that?”

Otto and Nova turned to look at him as well, and Antauri was frozen. He stared back, painfully aware of the silence that was stretching, but unable to think of what to say. He opened his mouth, thoroughly unsure what was going to come out, when he heard a sound far off in the distance.

Seizing on the out he’d been offered, he asked, “Did you hear that?” and turned his head towards the noise.

“Heard it? I think I _felt_ it,” Otto said, looking uneasily at the ground.

“Are we being attacked?” Nova asked. “Aren’t Sprx and Gibson on patrol? Shouldn’t they have warned us if—?”

“Call them,” Chiro said suddenly, hastily pushing himself to his feet.

“What—?”

“ _Call them,_ ” he repeated forcefully, activating the comm he had pinned to the front of his shirt. “Sprx, Gibson, reply. Is everything alright?”

Static.

Nova quickly activated her own comm. “Sprx? Sprx, come in. Respond. _Sprx?”_

“Gibson? Gibson, are you there? C’mon Gibson, it’s Otto, pick up!”

Chiro activated his Hyper Mode while Antauri closed his eyes and concentrated for a moment. When he opened them he simply said, “This way!” and flew off, trusting the rest to follow. They located the source of the sound several minutes later.

Fist Rockets 3 and 4 were laying in craters in the streets, both ablaze.

Everyone made a unified, panicked lurch forward. “Antauri, Otto, get Sprx and Gibson out of there!” Chiro called.

Both gave quick nods of acknowledgement before flying over. Antauri slipped into his ghost-mode, phasing through Fist Rocket 3’s exterior, while Otto used his saws to cut an entrance point in the side of Fist Rocket 4. Smoke promptly billowed out of the hole he’d made, making him recoil and cough. His heart lurched.

_No no no no no—_

Otto activated his oxygen mask and quickly slid into the opening.

The lights had gone out inside the cockpit. Oh, that was a bad sign. That was a _really_ bad sign. The lights were designed to stay on even if the main engine blew. If they’d gone out that meant that the flames must have already reached the reserve tank, and if they’d already reached the reserve tank then that meant they were close to the main fuel tanks, which meant that the Fist Rocket could potentially be set to _blow_ —

Otto activated his nightvision, squinting through the smoke. “ _Gibson?_ ” he called. No response.

Moving as quickly as he dared (last thing he needed was to knock anything volatile any looser than it already was), he crept forward. He had to _remind_ himself to move carefully when he caught sight of Gibson laying facedown against the far wall, because the urge to rush forward was almost overwhelming.

Gibson’s left side had apparently settled too close to the heat, because the metal was discolored and distorted. His helmet was supporting a sizable dent. His eyes were blank.

Otto swallowed the emotions rising up to his throat and eyes, and instead worked to carefully disconnect the import that was still securely fastened to the back of Gibson’s head. Gingerly, trying not to touch or otherwise aggravate his injuries, Otto lifted him off the floor of the cockpit.

“I gotcha, Gibson, it’s gonna be okay now…”

He said it mostly for himself, because he knew Gibson probably couldn’t hear him. Still, in the off-chance that he could, if – Gods forbid – he was actually _conscious_ right now, and just unable to show it, Otto wanted him to know he was safe.

He wasn’t quite able to fight the desire rush on his way out, mostly because the threat of potential detonation was strangely less pressing than “friend needs help NOW” in his mind. When he made it to the exit, he once again activated his rocketpack and flew Gibson and himself out of the wreckage. Once in the light, he noticed the dent in Gibson’s helmet was framed by cracks. Otto swallowed hard.

Antauri was emerging with Sprx as well, and Otto heard both Chiro and Nova gasp when they saw the states of their teammates. Sprx had also suffered heat damage, though not nearly as bad as Gibson. But what was making a lump stick to the inside of Otto’s throat in regards to _his_ condition was that the import was still attached to the back of his head. By the looks of it, it had gotten smashed into his skull during the crash, and Antauri, unable to remove it, had had to tear it off the rod that connected it to the rest of the Fist Rocket in order to extract him.

“We need to get back to the Robot _now_ ,” Chiro said, valiantly trying to keep the panic from his voice.

The rest of the Team nodded, and they all took off in its direction. The Fist Rockets were left to smolder.

The ships could be repaired, replaced even, if it was unfortunate enough to come to that. Sprx and Gibson couldn’t. And the clock was ticking.

* * *

Something had gone wrong.

Things had started out swimmingly. Sprx’s worst fear was to go blind, directly because it meant that he wouldn’t be able to fly. So the chance to implement his fear _while_ he was flying was a delicious opportunity that Mandarin had been more than happy to take advantage of. He’d been delighted when it looked like Sprx was going to crash into the nth floor of a building, but then in a moment of inspiration he decided that there was something else he’d _much_ rather send his brother crashing into. So he momentarily allowed Sprx’s sight to return.

Not only was it a more poetic option, in Mandarin’s opinion, but running smack into the Super Robot would be a much easier way to corral the remaining team members together.

That’s what he’d intended to happen. That’s what he’d been in the process of _doing_ , but then in the middle of it he’d felt… strange. It couldn’t have been for more than a second, _two_ if he was being generous. It had been enough to snare his attention, which was the infuriating part, because apparently that second or two was long enough for everything to fall to pieces. Fist Rocket 3 unexpectedly swerved, catching Fist Rocket 4 in the side, and both crafts went spiraling to violently meet the ground.

It wouldn’t have been so bad, all things considered. It meant that, in all likelihood, both pilots would be unconscious for most of Mandarin’s revenge, but he could have worked around that. There was actually the possibility that they _would_ be conscious, and just too injured to do anything. They’d be forced to watch helplessly as he took everything they loved and ripped it apart before their eyes. Mandarin actually rather liked that idea, and wouldn’t have minded if that had been the case. Except it _hadn’t._

The amulet started glowing while the Fist Rockets were heading down, which it had only done prior when he’d been charging it to fire. Which he _hadn’t_ been doing. He fumbled for a moment, confused and scrambling for a way to make it stop. Then he stopped dead as he realized what was coming, a wave of dread washing over him.

Not a moment later he was overcome by the (by this point) familiar sensation of being blown off his feet.

Mandarin wasn’t quite sure of anything for a few seconds. In fact, most of his mental facilities seemed to be temporarily stuck on _pain_ and _what_ and _aarrggghhh_. After he managed to wrestle back a small bit of clarity, he pushed himself into a sitting position (he’d landed on his back, evidently) and rubbed the back of his head gingerly. When he opened his eyes, _all_ of his mental facilities came to a shrieking halt at _oh no._

Valina was not where he’d left her. Specifically, within her amulet. She’d wandered off into a new doorway to darken. Specifically, _right in front of him._

She looked… _confused_ almost, as though her standing there was just as much a shock to her as it was to him. Was there a way he could use that? Could he somehow direct enough attention to the strange happenstance that she’d forget that he’d – eh, well, that they’d had disagreements? At least long enough for him to make an exit?

The confusion was melting off her face. She was beginning to grin. His racing thoughts were forcibly yanked back around to _oh no oh no oh no._

“What was it you said about ‘joining the fun,’ Simian…?”

Mandarin gulped.


	3. Don't Make Plans, Nothing Goes According to Them

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Took me about the same amount of time to write this chapter, and yet it's only about half the length. Ugh. I debated plugging along until it was about the same as the other two, but as you can see I gave up and said "fuck it." I'm hoping that starting a fresh chapter will eliminate my block, and also I have some Christmas projects that I HAVE to get done, but COULDN'T if I had an unfinished chapter hanging over my head. I'll work to make the next chapter a less wishy-washy size, swear.

As it turned out, the import in the back of Sprx’s head was worse than just smashed in. The heat from the fire had melded it into the ports of Sprx helmet, which would have been bad enough if the ports didn’t lead directly into his _brain_.

Otto was trying furiously to find a balance between “working quickly” and “working calmly.” Sure, time was kind of an important factor here, but if he went too quick then he might mess up. And if he messed up, he’d panic, which would make him mess up more, and then everything would start snowballing. It didn’t help that this wasn’t even his area of expertise to begin with. Not fully, anyway. He was totally confident with everything up to the import, but all the organic bits were really more Gibson’s specialty—

He halted the train of thought there, because his throat had abruptly closed up and his vision had gotten blurry. He didn’t turn his head to look at the table behind him where Antauri was working. He couldn’t. He needed to focus on Sprx. Sprx needed him right now. Plus he was pretty sure that if he looked at Gibson and couldn’t see him looking back, especially now when Otto felt he needed him more than anybody else in the world… it’d be bad. It’d be _really_ bad. So instead he kept his eyes trained on Sprx, and didn’t think about it.

_This isn’t Antauri’s specialty either… he knows even less about this than you do._

The brakes of Otto’s mind were getting worn a little thin tonight with all the times he was stomping on them. Don’t think like that. Antauri could handle it. Everything would be fine. It was _Antauri_ for Shuggazoom’s sake, when had he ever let them down?

Otto forced his attention back on Sprx, and prayed to every force of good in the universe that he wasn’t nicking anything important as he worked.

Meanwhile, Chiro and Nova stood anxiously off to the side, the latter feeling positively sick. Situations where she could do nothing to help made her antsy and irritated at the best of times. It was a million times worse when the things you couldn’t help were your friends _._

And it wasn’t just Sprx or Gibson she couldn’t help; she didn’t know enough to help Otto or Antauri try to patch them up. She couldn’t even help _Chiro_ , who was probably feel just as sick and scared as she was, if not more. He was just a kid, for cripes sake. A really strong, capable kid, granted, but just because he was capable didn’t mean that he was any better equipped to see his friends seriously hurt than anyone else his age.

She glanced over at him, wishing she could say something to the effect of “don’t worry” or “it’ll be okay.” Anything, really, to make him feel better, even a little. Problem was just because she told him “don’t worry” didn’t mean he’d magically be able to stop. It’d be noise he’d have to waste energy drowning out, on top of the energy that worrying was already burning up.

And as terrifying as it was, she didn’t actually _know_ if everything would be okay. She wasn’t about to give him – potentially – false hope just so he’d be momentarily comforted. She couldn’t do that to him.

…she still wished she could do _something_ , though.

“Wait…” Otto said quietly. Everyone in the room very nearly jumped. Besides the clinking and tapping of Otto and Antauri working, there’d been no sound. Hearing someone’s voice was jarring.

“I think…” He was talking to himself, everyone collectively realized. Chiro and Nova held their breaths while Antauri hastily tried to get back to work. “I think I… I think I _got it_ …”

There was a slow, slimy, squelching sound as Otto carefully removed the import.

Otto’s expression shifted from worried and unsure to determined and laser-focused in milliseconds. He began working more quickly, repairing and replacing the parts of the port in the back of Sprx’s head. His movements grew more precise.

“Otto?” Chiro asked hesitantly. “Is everything…?”

“Everything’s okay,” he said, not looking up. His voice was completely calm and matter-of-fact. The weight began to cautiously lift from Nova’s chest as he said, “I for sure know how to do _this_ part.”

Nova looked over at Chiro again, and this time he looked back. She felt tentative hope build between them. She smiled at him encouragingly, and he smiled back.

(She wondered, distantly, if Chiro shared her anxiety that their hope was preemptive. That they were celebrating too soon. She hoped not. Chiro deserved the ability to still be able to hope.)

“ _Done!_ ” Otto said suddenly. The fact that the definitiveness of his tone was undercut with traces of relief and shock spoke volumes about how he’d felt going into the procedure. Nova felt something inside her twist, though she wasn’t entirely sure why.

“Chiro, Nova, get Sprx into a healing chamber, I’m gonna help Antauri!” he said, looking back at the other two. He seemed caught between wanting to immediately begin working on Gibson and being reluctant to leave Sprx’s side until he was one hundred percent positive that he was in safe hands.

He didn’t have to wait long. Nova and Chiro were at Sprx’s side in an instant, carefully moving him off the table. Otto darted over to Gibson’s side, and quickly went to work.

* * *

The final tally on Sprx and Gibson’s injuries (at least as best as Antauri and Otto could find, considering they were laymen and had to rely primarily on the Robot’s scanners) were several broken ribs apiece, concussions (Sprx’s being the more intense of the two, unsurprisingly), semi-serious burns on Gibson’s left side (most of Antauri and Otto’s work had revolved around gingerly prying the warped, scorching cybernetic armor away from Gibson’s actual flesh), and Sprx had a torn shoulder.  But still, miraculously, nothing fatal. Nothing life-altering. All their injuries ought to, in time, be able to heal.

(Again, at least as far as two laymen could tell).

Chiro’s stomach was still in knots though. The initial relief of “no one’s going to die tonight!” had passed, and now all he was left with was a metric ton of uneasy questions. Antauri floated by his side, mutely observing their teammates in their healing chambers. His expression was, as usual, unreadable in its neutrality.

“I still don’t understand what caused this,” Chiro said, breaking the silence.

“At present, none of us do, Chiro. We will need to investigate the Fist Rockets for signs of potential malfunction before we can speculate.”

“The Fist Rockets were on _fire_ when we left them,” Chiro said, turning fully now. “What makes you think we’ll still be able to find anything?”

Antauri was quiet for a moment, then inclined his head. “I don’t. But it would be unwise to not bother looking simply because we don’t expect results.” He raised his head again, looking over to Chiro. “At worst, we’ll simply have to wait until Sprx and Gibson are in a position to tell us what happened, and try to piece together what happened from there.”

“What about that feeling we all got right before they crashed?” Chiro pressed. The knots in his stomach tightened. “You can’t tell me you didn’t feel that Antauri. Or that it didn’t _mean_ something.”

Again, Antauri was quiet. For a slightly longer period of a time, Chiro noticed. Then, slowly, he said, “I agree that the two occurrences could be connected in some way. Perhaps we collectively sensed that Sprx and Gibson were in trouble.”

“Yeah, _or_ what if the feeling was what caused Sprx and Gibson to crash in the first place?” Chiro asked, the uneasy feeling climbing up to settle in his chest now as well. “What if it’s got nothing to do with the Fist Rockets malfunctioning, and _that’s_ what went wrong? What if—”

“ _Chiro_ ,” Antauri said soothingly, placing a hand on his shoulder. Flow interrupted, Chiro let out the extra air he’d been saving for the words unsaid in an anxious little sigh. He stared at Antauri, despondent and concerned.

“I think you should have something to eat, and then try to get some rest.” Antauri held up a hand as Chiro tried to argue. “There’s nothing more we can do at this time, save going to salvage the Fist Rockets. Which, given the emotional state everyone is currently in, is a task best left for tomorrow.” He gestured at the healing chambers. “Sprx and Gibson are stable. Focus on that, rather than dwell on uncertainties. Tomorrow we’ll investigate the matter to its fullest extent, but for now I believe it would be best to merely try to calm down from the stressful evening.”

Chiro hesitated for a minute, the questions he still wanted to ask wrestling with the sense Antauri was making, then took a deep breath and let it go.

“Right,” he said. “Okay. Tomorrow. We’ll… we’ll figure it out tomorrow.”

There was a pause, and then Antauri squeezed his shoulder softly, offering him a tiny, encouraging smile. “It will be alright.”

The knots squeezing his abdomen loosened, if only slightly. It was stupid, really, but hearing Antauri say that made him feel better than any amount of common sense probably could. Probably just because it was Antauri.

“Right,” he said again. With one last look at the healing chambers (and a silent thought of _g’night, guys_ ), Chiro turned and left Sick Bay, hoping they had at least enough milk left in the fridge for a bowl of cereal.

Antauri watched him go, then turned back to stare at Sprx and Gibson. He watched the bubbles in the liquid float slowly up to the tops of tubes, then disappear. He focused on the bubbles rather than what his emotions were doing, and tried not to think of anything at all, just for a moment. All he wanted was a moment.

Seconds creeped by. He put his head down and turned to leave out the same way Chiro had.

He had to finish getting ready.

* * *

The Zone of Wasted Years was the only part of Shuggazoom (save the city itself, of course) that was even remotely inhabitable. Barring the corruption the Skeleton King had wrought on the land, obviously. This was speaking in a strictly geographical sense. The Sea of Ice, for example, took a special constitution to remain in for long – specifically, about an inch and a half of blubber – and even then there was still a frost demon to deal with. Unsurprisingly, that section of the planet had remained largely unpopulated throughout most of its history, and those who _had_ tried to live there either changed their minds rather quickly or were never heard from again.

The Blasted Lands, on the other hand, had once been home to the majority of Shuggazoom’s population. The people had spread out to create kingdoms and provinces, and then when the monarchies fell, towns and states and nations. Unfortunately, seemingly endless wars cropped up for seemingly endless reasons and rather put a stop to all that, rendering the land fiery and barren. There were even _fewer_ creatures that could thrive in _that_ environment. Those who’d managed to survive the wars (usually just by refusing to get involved in the first place) were forced to migrate to an area with more sustainable living conditions. They eventually settled on a city in the ocean, held aloft by hundreds of stone columns. Ancient sailors and other seafaring folk had originally set it up as a port, meant to eliminate the need to sail all the way back to the mainland for supplies and such, but it served as a city just as well.

The aforementioned Zone of Wasted Years had been an option for colonialization, of course. In fact, the refugees would have had to pass through it to reach what would later be known as Shuggazoom City, but for whatever reason they had passed it by. Shuggazoomian historians often speculated it was because the area had been considered too dangerous, even before it had given in to Skeleton King’s consuming malignancy. There were signs the land had been inhabited at some point or another ( _someone_ had to have constructed the temples there), but there was no trace of the people who’d lived there, nor any indication as to what had ultimately happened to them. Combined with it being a literal jungle anyway, no aspect of the Zone really screamed “travelers welcome!” so it was little wonder the refugees had kept moving.

The temples, though, apparently still had their uses. At least as far as Skeleton King was concerned, considering he’d stationed one of his followers there. That was what she’d claimed upon her and the Team’s first meeting, anyway, so that was where Antauri was headed.

He had never actually driven one of Otto’s Moon Buggies before. He’d ridden in one before, of course, and the controls weren’t difficult to master, so it wasn’t as though it created any real problem. In any case, necessity demanded that even if it had been a problem, he would have worked through it regardless. Rocket packs, though infinitely faster than walking, still weren’t enough to cover the amount of ground Antauri needed within the span of one night, and he couldn’t risk waking the rest of the Team by disengaging the Brain Scrambler. So after he was certain everyone else was asleep, he’d crept into Otto’s workshop and absconded with one of his inventions. Hopefully, he wouldn’t notice it had been used after he brought it back.

One thing he noticed was that as he drove farther and farther away from the city, he saw more and more stars. It had been ages since he’d seen so many stars, at least whilst he was stationed on a planet. There was something almost comforting in seeing them now. It reminded him of his time on Koraladol. There weren’t quite as many as he used to see out his window at the Veran temple, but that didn’t make the sight any less beautiful. It was a shame he didn’t have time to stop and really look at them; star-gazing had once been one of his favorite hobbies. He wondered, absently, how many constellations he still remembered. Once upon a time, he’d been able to identify at least a hundred across several different solar systems, but nowadays—

He felt something.

The Moon Buggy swerved sharply before Antauri jerked it back on track, mind buzzing. That hadn’t been what he’d been feeling over the last few days. What he’d felt before had unquestionably been the Power Primate degenerating. _This_ felt like he’d just stumbled across a _source_ of it.

Antauri brought the buggy to a stop and closed his eyes to focus. The feeling was most closely comparable to the sensation he got when one of his teammates was near, which he could safely say wasn’t the case. Each Team member had a very distinct aura, and this didn’t match any of them. Not to mention it would have been impossible for any of the Team to have beaten him out here in the first place.

So then what exactly _was_ it?

Eastward, moving south. That’s what it was. It felt close (less than a mile, anyway), and Antauri speculated he could intercept it in a matter of minutes. Even less, maybe, if he continued to use the Moon Buggy.

Antauri opened the latch and swiftly floated out of the vehicle, then activated his rocketpack and flew off in the direction of the source. The Power Primate was acting up (the whole reason he was even out here in the first place was to investigate a possible cause for such), and he’d just sensed a portion of it for seemingly no reason in the middle of nowhere. He highly doubted that was a coincidence. It warranted looking into, at the very least. As such, considering he had no idea what he was up against, stealth was advisable in this instance. The Moon Buggy, though a quick means of transport, was much more noticeable than he was, both in terms of size and sound, so it was wiser to leave it behind for the time being.

As he felt himself growing nearer, Antauri deactivated his pack and took to silently leaping across the tops of the stone outcrops that littered the landscape. They were fairly tall, so he’d be able to get a bird’s eye view of whatever he was stalking without the sound of his rocketpack giving him away. The only downside was that some of them were slightly unstable and crumbling, so he had to mind his footing. One almost looked as though something had slammed into it at great speed, though Antauri couldn’t fathom what could have struck it so far up.

There was something moving up ahead.

Antauri landed lightly on an outcrop, crouching down to remain as unobtrusive as possible. A figure was weaving slowly through the stones that rose up from the ground. It was difficult to gauge, elevated as he was, but if he had to guess Antauri would wager that it was taller than himself, but shorter than Chiro. Upon first glance it appeared rather shapeless, but Antauri’s night-vision revealed that to be the result of the cloak it had drawn up around itself.

It was the source of the Power Primate he’d sensed. More than that, in addition to possessing the Power Primate, its aura had traces of something painfully _familiar_ about it. Antauri leaned forward quietly, squinting, trying to get a better look, and in doing so he shifted in just the wrong way.

A fragment of the rock was knocked loose. The sound it made as it hit the ground was like a gunshot in the silence.

The figure jolted at the sound, snapping around to face it. It continued to retreat several steps backward as it looked around rapidly, trying to locate the source. It spotted Antauri before he could try to duck down farther (he suddenly felt incredibly stupid; he was _silver_ and there was a full moon out, what exactly did he think _ducking down_ would accomplish?) and everything about it went slack. There was still alarm peppering its posture, but from what Antauri could see of its face, confusion was currently its primary emotion. Whatever it had been expecting when it turned around, it hadn’t been him. And it evidently didn’t find him _nearly_ as threatening as whatever that was supposed to have been.

All of this meant very little to Antauri, because as mentioned, he could see its face. And it wasn’t an “it” at all; it was a _he._

Antauri didn’t authorize his mouth to speak. He was just as surprised as the opposite party when he heard himself breathe, “ _Mandarin?_ ”

His mind flashed back to earlier that day, and again he had the thought: _Perhaps you should stop assuming enemies are neutralized until you actually_ see _them die…_


	4. If Anyone Out There Has a Clue, Please Step Forward

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Took me long enough, am I right???
> 
> Y'know it wasn't until after I started editing this that I realized how much inadvertent foreshadowing I'd crammed into this chapter... Little stuff, really, I'm probably the only one who'll ever notice it because I ~KNOW~ but still.

Mandarin had never been a morning person. Not once in his life. Everything was too _bright,_ and more often than not he felt like absolute trash besides. The latter could be argued as him averaging about four hours of sleep a night, but Mandarin thought it more likely that mornings were just the gods’ way of punishing all sentient life for the ancient sins of their ancestors.

When he woke the morning after escaping the cloning factory’s basement, everything was far too bright, he felt like death warmed over, and he was ridiculously grateful for all of it. Mere mornings were nothing compared to what he’d left behind. The gods would have to try harder.

(His insides twisted apprehensively at the thought. It occurred to him that – given his current state – taunting the gods may not be the smartest move. He made a hurried mental amendment of _actually no you’ve proved your point I’m fine thank you carry on_.)

Where he’d woken up was barren, and he could see Shuggazoom City off in the distance. He’d collapsed several feet from the edge of the monstrous pit the cloning factory had been stationed in. Stiffly, he dragged himself closer to peek over the side down to the bottom.

At some point, the factory itself had been destroyed. The remaining rubble was probably even what had been blocking the trapdoor he’d eventually escaped from. A circular walkway had been erected, standing about three stories off the ground, which he had no memory of. It must have come after he’d been… it must have come _after_. Moreover, there was a crack of considerable size in the pit’s floor, roughly at the center of the walkway. An earthquake? It would certainly explain why the cloning factory had been demolished, anyway.

Mandarin shuddered as it occurred to him how lucky he’d been the basement hadn’t collapsed along with the upper floors. If the box had been destroyed, would he have died with it? Or just been trapped in its hellscape for all eternity with no way out? He shuddered again.

As he pondered, Mandarin found himself staggered by just how _deep_ the pit was. There were steep, sheer rock walls surrounding it on all sides; virtually inescapable. Yet, somehow, he’d scaled them almost without realizing it. Thank every holy power that be for adrenaline, he supposed. Having since calmed down he was left aching literally all over from the effort, his whole body trembling whenever he tried to move. Still, he firmly maintained it was an impressive feat nonetheless.

Without warning, he was overcome by an intense feeling of lightheadedness, and he hastily scuttled back from the edge. If he passed out or lost his balance, he didn’t want to be leaning over a twenty story drop when it happened. Logically _,_ his dizziness could attributed to his exhaustion and the sheer amount of physical and emotional duress he’d been under. _Logically._ But as he sat, knees drawn up with his head in his hands and trying to will the world to stop spinning, he couldn’t dismiss the sinking feeling that the situation was much graver than that.

There was still pain from when he’d used the Power Primate to blast the door open. That was… intensely concerning. He’d never felt anything like that before in his life. Was he just grievously out of practice? He wasn’t entirely certain how long he’d been inside that wretched box, after all – and as a side note, he was absolutely _sick_ of waking up from unwilling comas without being immediately aware of how much time had passed. Twice was two too many. An even more worrying thought, was he somehow losing connection with it?

…was there something wrong with the Power Primate _itself?_

Mandarin raised his head from his hands. His dizziness hadn’t fully abated yet, but that could wait in the backseat for now. There couldn’t be something wrong with the Power Primate itself, could there? It was by and large a self-perpetuating energy, so it wasn’t as if it ran the risk of fizzling out. And in terms of outside forces hurting it… Honestly the only things that had the power to even hope to do _that_ were the Dark Ones, and the Veran Mystics had imprisoned them at least seven thousand years ago.

Shockingly, his application of logic didn’t miraculously make the pain in his core stop existing. There was still something very wrong here, regardless of what “logic” had to say about it.

He sat like that for a minute, staring forward at nothing in particular, hands frozen in the position they’d held his head. If something was amiss with the Power Primate itself – rather than his personal proficiency or connection wavering – the results could potentially be catastrophic for everyone linked to it. Half-heartedly, he tried to tell himself that he didn’t know that; it could be as simple (though unfortunate) as no one being able to use it again. He knew better though, however much it would put his mind at ease to not. The Power Primate, once attained, wove itself into the being of its users. If it went bunk, the situation would be more comparable to someone’s kidneys shutting down than it would to their weapon breaking. And there wasn’t a power in the universe that could be transplanted to substitute for the Power Primate. Not that Mandarin knew of, anyway.

He closed his eyes, brow furrowed, and took a deep breath. He opened his eyes and haltingly, painfully, fumblingly rose to his feet, teetering slightly as he stood. The dizziness that had never really gone away intensified, but he didn’t fall. When he felt steady enough (hardly steady at all, really, but this was an instance where he was forced to settle), he began staggering towards Shuggazoom.

He had no resources, no guidance, and no idea where to start, but Mandarin had never been the type to be idle when a task needed completing. More than that, he had _not_ fought his way out of literal hell just to die from mystical organ failure. One way or another, he’d find out what was going on and either patch it up or put a stop to it. But he needed to prepare first.

That had been several days ago. He’d managed to make it to the City, wherein he’d been able to swipe a bit of food and some supplies. In particular, he’d found a large square of fabric that was old and ragged, and whatever its original purpose had been it’d apparently been deemed unfit for it now. The comparison to Mandarin’s own situation couldn’t have been more obvious if it’d had a flashing neon sign attached, and it made his muzzle twist into a sour grimace as he thought about it.

Well, no matter. It could be tied around his neck to form a makeshift cloak and hood, which in turn helped him feel less exposed. Just because no one else thought it was good for anything didn’t mean it was _worthless_. It still had plenty of uses, it just took some innovation to see them. And Mandarin was exceedingly innovative, so it worked out fine. Everything was fine.

At first, he’d been concerned that he’d be noticed by one of the citizens, who in turn would alert the Hyperforce. He was disgusted (though far from surprised) to find that the people of Shuggazoom were too wrapped up in their own pathetic little lives to pay him much notice, provided he stayed out from underfoot. Honestly, he wasn’t even certain the greater majority of them had developed object permanence yet.

And this was the populace he’d fought for so hard for so long. Absolutely disgraceful.

Mandarin had initially dreaded that whatever was effecting the Power Primate would be so deeply interwoven into it that so much as _investigating_ the situation would require him to speak with the Veran Mystics. Which would have been truly unfortunate, because not only was he lacking any means to reach Koraladol (not that it mattered, he didn’t suspect he’d be exactly _welcome_ there anymore), but he heartily doubted that it would have done him a lick of good anyway. When faced with a problem, his _dear_ former masters were much more likely to ostrich their heads even further up their own backsides than actually work to solve it. Undoubtedly they’d feed him some tripe about “destiny” or lecture him how “the universe has a way of balancing itself out Mandarin” or “it’s not your place to question fate Mandarin” or “your insistence to go against the way things are predetermined to be will be your end Mandarin” blah blah _blah._ And that was just the _lower_ Mystics; gods help him ended up speaking with _Xan._ His audio receptors would be aching for _days_ from the sheer amount of pretension they’d be forced to endure…

He discovered that he needn’t worry about contacting the Verans (almost) by accident: Not truly expecting results (but hoping against hope anyway), he’d found a secluded, quiet place to meditate, and telepathically reached towards the Power Primate. The hope was that, if there were any fissures in its makeup, he’d be able to both locate them and follow them back to a source of the bizarre behavior. It was a staple of a Mystic to be able to tap into the Power Primate in a way that would boost extrasensory abilities; “seeing without looking” was often considered the most impressive of the skills, but the unofficial secret was that it was actually one of the most basic. Conversely, being able to, so to speak, “see” the Power Primate itself was considered one of the higher-tier practices, and Mandarin had been one of the few students to have mastered it.

(He used to take great pride in that. He tried to stir up some of it in his chest, but was met with lackluster results. It was difficult for him to feel proud of much of anything lately.)

He had expected his efforts to be futile, or if he _did_ find anything that it would be the tail-end leading off into the ethers where he had no hope of following. So his surprise at finding not one, but _several_ trails to track, all of which having a decent chance of being reached (read: _on planet_ ), was rather substantial.

He selected the closest path, and set out for it that night. He would have preferred a chance to recover a bit more, but things were accelerating. Earlier that same evening, in fact, he’d felt the Power Primate writhe within him, and he hadn’t even been _using_ it for anything. He’d just have to hope that he was recovered _enough_ to deal with whatever he might be heading off towards.

Thusly, Mandarin could be found slowly crossing the outskirts of the city, making his way towards who knew what. He wasn’t exactly _regretting_ his decision to set out, because really what choice did he have, but all the same…

While in the city, with people constantly bustling about and a task to focus on, it had been easier for him to put the abysmal Box out of his mind. But now, alone, out in the open with nothing to occupy himself but putting one foot in front of the other, it seemed to be all he could think about. And quite frankly it was putting him so on edge that he was practically falling off the proverbial side.

He tried to take his mind off it by looking up at the stars, which were numerous and objectively beautiful. Constellations had never held any particular interest to him. How, precisely, were ancient games of connect-the-dots of any real consequence to anyone? “Navigation” (which was the most common answer to his indignant question) didn’t really apply to someone with navigational systems already built into their processor. Yet, irritatingly, he still probably knew more constellations than the average person had any right to, if only because they’d been drilled into his skull by—

Ugh, this was even _worse_. Mandarin grumpily put his head down and stared resolutely at the cracks in the dry ground.

 A sound behind him shattered the silence like a gunshot.

Mandarin whipped around, his heart throwing an absolute tantrum against his ribcage. It couldn’t have followed him all the way out here, it just couldn’t have, it had been under the ground at the bottom of a _hole—_ could he fight it like this? If he hid on an outcrop would it be able to reach him—?

A flash of silver at the top of an outcrop caught his eye – _nothing on the box is silver, not even its crankshaft, that’s iron and rusted_ – and his gaze was drawn to the spot as the tension seeped from his posture.

It was another monkey. It was another _robot_ monkey. Blue eyes, silver coating. The Hyperforce had commissioned another one? Or… well no, it would _have_ to have been the Team, wouldn’t it? Who else would be going around building robot monkeys? More pressingly, what was it doing so far out in the middle of nowhere? It appeared just as surprised by him as he was of it, so that suggested it hadn’t been intentionally sent out to stalk him…

Before Mandarin could make an attempt to communicate with it (though what he’d say he had no clue), it spoke. More than spoke, it said his _name_. Most jarringly of all, it said his name in a voice he _recognized_.

Why was Antauri’s voice coming out of a body that wasn’t his?

* * *

The canopy of Chiro’s bed was the same as it ever was: smooth, off-white. His eyes were naturally drawn to the scrapes in the finish from when he’d accidentally chucked a toy a bit too high. It’d been around the time he’d first joined the Team, he remembered. He’d had a habit of being just a _little_ too enthusiastic with things back then, because he’d been in a state of near-constant excitement. He was on a real, honest-to-gosh hero team, and they were going to teach him to be a real, honest-to-gosh hero. How could life possibly get any better?

The pleasant nostalgia had faded to nothing after two hours of staring at the exact same scratch-marks.

Antauri had suggested he get some rest after the stressful night they’d all had. Good plan. Fine plan. But the execution was escaping him. He rolled onto his side, hoping that a change in perspective would inspire sleep. He now had a lovely view of his closet door, and he didn’t feel any less awake. Cool.

The strange feeling from earlier had long since faded, but Chiro swore he could still feel aftershocks of it ricocheting around this chest. He tried, half-heartedly, to tell himself it was just the remnants of stress and anxiety; he was just worried about Sprx and Gibson. Perfectly normal to feel how he did, considering his friends were hurt, right?

If he hadn’t been feeling twitches of _whatever_ this was for the past few days, he’d have brushed it off as just that. But how could he have been feeling stress or anxiety from something that hadn’t even happened yet? The only person on the Team who could have done _that_ was Antauri, and Chiro couldn’t fool himself into thinking he was on Antauri’s level of experience yet.

The most disturbing part, Chiro decided, was that the feeling wasn’t _new_. He’d felt it – or something like it – before when Skeleton King was corrupting the Power Primate. Granted, it wasn’t _exactly_ the same. It’d been… _sharper_ back then, if that made any sense. He hadn’t even put together that the feelings were similar at all until the incident earlier that night. But now that he _had_ noticed, he couldn’t separate them.

…maybe that wasn’t the most disturbing part. Well, it _was_ , but Chiro couldn’t beat back the thought that he’d be feeling infinitely more at ease if any of the rest of the Team would comment on it. Or… y’know, if _Antauri_ would comment on it. Chiro fully maintained that if Antauri had noticed something important, he’d tell the rest of the Team about it. But here was something that Chiro felt was, by definition, pretty honking important, and he hadn’t said a single word on the matter. In fact when _Chiro_ had tried to talk about it, he’d gotten cut off. Antauri could sense a moth turning the corner down the street, there was no _way_ he wouldn’t sense this too. Why hadn’t he said anything?

Nausea flopped uselessly in Chiro’s gut as the thoughts he’d been avoiding reared up all at once: What if Antauri wasn’t saying anything on the matter because he didn’t feel it as strongly as Chiro did? What if the reason Chiro was feeling this at all was because – instead of the Power Primate failing for _everyone,_ like before – it was only failing _him_? It would explain why it felt similar-but-not-exactly.

Chiro stared into his open closet, tracing the outlines of hanging shirts in the dark. For a moment he tried to force his thoughts onto a different topic all together, because the one he currently entertained was making him want to throw up. He tried pondering when would be a good time to go through his old clothes and throw out what didn’t fit anymore. Maybe this weekend. Maybe Jin May could help. Somehow or another she always ended up accidentally stealing his sweatshirts, maybe he could gift her one officially this time.

It didn’t work, but then he realized he hadn’t really expected it too. He gave himself a doleful “nice try,” and miserably allowed his previous train of thought to resume its course.

He tried to reason with his anxiety: It didn’t really make any sense, when you thought about it, for the Power Primate to only just _now_ decide that he wasn’t worthy of the Power Primate. It wasn’t like he’d done anything _wrong_ recently. At least not that he could think of (and trust him, he’d been wracking his brains for absolutely _anything_ that could explain this). And anyway if the Power Primate was so picky about who used it, they how come _Mandarin_ had been able to use it even after all he did to the Team? Where was the justice there?

Sensing he might have a point, Chiro’s anxiety rebutted that perhaps it was because he simply wasn’t needed anymore. Skeleton King was gone, after all; what was there left to fight? Random goons? The Team could handle that just fine without him.

But Chiro, confidence tentatively building, shot back that _whatever_ had made him Chosen One hadn’t set stipulations fitting that idea. If there was some kind of prophecy that had predicted that there’d be a “Chosen One” to begin with, wouldn’t it have also predicted just how long the job would last, if that was the case?

Backed into a corner, argument thwarted, Anxiety decided it was time to pull out the Big Guns:

_“I’m impressed with your diligence, young Chiro… But you are **not** the Chosen One!”_

Bubble burst, Chiro felt his hope drain from his chest into his stomach, where it putrefied once again into a sickening sense of nausea. He _wished_ he could say, even if it was just to himself, that he hadn’t given Xan’s seemingly random declaration a second thought after he’d said it. It was just the ramblings of some loony who thought Skeleton King actually knew what he was talking about. It didn’t’ require any further consideration or action. He’d let it go and moved on. But that was, unfortunately, a bold-faced lie. The line had attached itself to his mind since that point, bubbling just underneath conscious thought, ready to burst out and attack whenever he messed up: _This is all wrong. You don’t belong here. It’s all a mistake._

Was that even possible? Chiro could picture a _person_ mixing things up and picking out the wrong kid, but he hadn’t been selected, things had just sort of… _happened_. Could all that, everything he’d gone through with his team, everything that brought him to meeting them in the first place, all just have been one big cosmic _mistake_? How could it though? He’d been able to understand the monkeys when no one else could, he could use the Power Primate—

Chiro’s fists involuntarily clenched around his bedsheets, thought process right back where it started.

Seconds dragged on, and – thoughts suddenly unbearably loud – Chiro flopped back to his original position, frustrated. _There’s an explanation for all this_ , he told himself firmly, mentally beating back his doubt and negativity with a stick. _There’s an explanation, and tomorrow you’re going to talk with Antauri, and you’re going to figure out what it is._

For some reason having a plan of action – even one as vague as “you’ll figure it out” – made Chiro feel minutely, almost defiantly better, even if it didn’t make him any sleepier. After a moment’s consideration, he rolled over again and felt along his floor for his TV remote. He’d watch _Sun Riders_ episodes until he fell asleep, he decided. Or until the sun came up. Whichever came first.

* * *

Valina was troubled.

In and of itself, that was a strange circumstance. Usually when she fell victim to such moods, all she had to do was contemplate the glory or her master. The thought of him never failed to put things into perspective, and with everything set right again she was to return to whatever task she’d been entertaining.

This time was different. Thinking of Skeleton King didn’t help her feel better, because thinking of him made her _worry._ Her poor master had been torn apart by the putrid Hyperforce, soul scattered to the winds, and thanks to his pathetic excuse for a toady she couldn’t even begin to gather the pieces back. She needed his skull to tell her where they were, and the stupid monkey had not only _hidden_ the skull, but was stubbornly refusing to share.

After her abrupt escape from her amulet, she’d relocated the pair of them to her temple in the Zone of Wasted Years. The simian was currently suspended off the ground, trapped in an orb, screaming his sorry lungs out. Valina observed him apathetically, not taking the joy she usually would from her work. Part of it was business, true. She had to make him tell her where the master’s skull was, sooner rather than later. She couldn’t imagine how uncomfortable the master must be to have miles between one part of himself and the other. But yet another part of the monkey’s torment was purely revenge for the indignity he’d put her through, and by all means she _should_ be enjoying it.

And yet, her satisfaction – if indeed, she felt any at all – felt detached and very far away.

Valina lowered her hand, and the electricity that had been crackling within the orb ceased. The simian gasped and panted, collapsing against the sides of the sphere. His breaths were shaky, and try as he might she knew he was fighting to disguise a sob or two. She was further depressed to note that she still felt nothing.

She ought to take this opportunity to press him for the skull’s whereabouts, but she could already sense it wouldn’t do her any good. Years of practice had given her a keen sense of when people were about to crack, and he wasn’t there yet. She wasn’t entirely sure if it was because the monkey’s resolution was _that_ strong or if she was just having an off night. She settled on it being the latter, both because her mind was clearly elsewhere and because she hated to concede that the simian was actually good for anything.

She settled back against the broken stone pillar she was sitting on. Let him stew for a while. Maybe a few minutes spent torturing _himself_ – wondering what she was planning next, imagining what she might do – would get him talking. She needed to reflect for a moment.

It wasn’t _just_ the need to restore her master bothering her, she admitted to herself. That, though arduous, she knew how to handle. The master himself had personally prepped her for such an event. (His preparedness was truly a marvel. She had to bite the inside of her cheek to hold back a sudden, adoring little smile. It wouldn’t do to let one of _those_ slip in front of a prisoner, after all.) But there was something else… Something she _didn’t_ know to handle, because she’d never dealt with anything like it before.

By all rights, she should still be trapped in her amulet. She knew this, as much as she hated to admit it. The only way she should have been able to get out was by the simian (well, anyone, really) intentionally releasing her. Which, safe to say, hadn’t been the case.

She took a moment to look at him out of the corner of her eye. He was watching her with a mix of defiance and – despite all his posturing – open fear. Neither said anything. She resumed her mental tread.

Not only had she escaped her imprisonment without the say of her captor (which went against everything she knew about magic, by the way), but just before there’d been a moment of… she wasn’t really sure how to describe it. One second she was floating though the limbo of her own power, the next she was overcome by a downright _odd_ feeling, and then without warning she was standing back in the real world, free as a bird. It made no sense.

Not helping her misgivings was that there were still remnants of the feeling ghosting around her core. This indicated that, disturbingly, this wasn’t a one-time fluke. It was still there, _whatever_ it was, and if it could bypass the laws of magic to free her… what else could it do?

“ _Well?_ ” the simian barked suddenly, drawing her out of her thoughts. She made an irritable mental note to set him on fire later. “Are you taking a recess or have you just given up? If you’re going to do more, get on with it!”

Silence ate at him in a way pain didn’t, apparently. She made another quick note.

“Eagar for more, are you?” she drawled, leaning forward, chin in her palm. She took special notice of his near imperceptible flinch before he drew himself up and puffed out his scrawny chest.

“I have better things to do then muddle through your paltry interrogation attempts. Why not do us both a favor – and spare yourself further embarrassment – and release me so I can see to them!”

Oh, how Valina wished she could throw off this despicable shroud of boredom. If she could, his pathetic attempts at sounding sure of himself would actually be quite funny.

“Practice, dear simian,” she said, forcing a sardonic smile she didn’t feel. “Merely practice.”

There, let him fret over that. He hadn’t even seen the full extent of her power, not even close. This was just a warm-up.

He was, blessedly, quiet at that. Valina went back to her thinking.

A frank review of the facts to get her mind back on track: There should have only been one way to escape her confinement, and that was for someone, one way or another, to release her from it. Instead, she’d been released by nobody, apparently by _accident_. She’d had a strange feeling directly beforehand, and suspected – but didn’t know for sure – that it had something to do with it. If this was true, then it meant that either A. She had powers that she didn’t even realize she had that could bend the laws of magic to her liking (ideal), B. The universe at large had an unexplainable hiccup right at that moment, allowing her once-in-a-lifetime amnesty from how magic ought to work (unlikely), or C. There were larger forces at work here (…frightening concept).

Valina glanced back at the monkey as she pondered. He was trying to surreptitiously check the orb for any openings or weak spots. There weren’t any, but he could figure that out on his own, she suspected, though it was anyone’s guess how long it would take him to do so. He wasn’t a particularly fast learner, at least as far as she’d seen. When trying to use her amulet, it’d taken him an embarrassingly long time of beating his head against a rock (almost _literally_ ) before he’d thought to change his approach. And even after he seemed to have gotten a handle on it, he’d _still_ found a way to muck it up. Just before she escaped, in fact, he’d completely lost control of its power, _for the umpteenth time_ , sending himself flying—

_Just before she escaped_.

It seemed pathetically obvious, suddenly, that it hadn’t been the monkey’s ineptitude that had caused his misstep. It’d been whatever had gotten her out. But… which explanation did that lend itself to, exactly? She wondered, now, if the monkey had noticed anything as well.

Not expecting much but likewise having nothing to lose, she asked, “Do you remember anything about right before I escaped?” Pause. “Did you feel anything out of the ordinary?”

He looked up, no doubt surprised at being addressed so calmly _._ He said nothing for a moment (it was apparently simply _impossible_ for him to quickly and easily comply to a request), before slowly saying, “Why do you ask?”

“Give me a proper answer and I’ll tell you.”

She could see the argument going on behind his eyes, though what for or against she didn’t know. Finally, he grudgingly admitted, “I did notice… _something_.” Bitterly, he added, “That’s when everything started falling apart.” Then, sharper, “Why? Did you feel something as well?”

Valina ignored him, leaning back once again. If _he’d_ felt something, then that ruled out the first theory. The second one too, in a way. That just left…

“ _Witch!_ ” he snapped, hands (hand and claw, technically) pressed to the inside of the bubble as he glared at her. “Answer me!”

Ugh, his voice was quite literally the most annoying noise she’d heard in years. How did he not give himself a headache when he spoke? She glared back, and waved her hand. Electricity jumped back to life inside the orb, granted only for a few seconds. He gurgled in pain, and didn’t speak again (he positively _scowled_ once he got his wits back, though).

If there was indeed larger power at work (which was what the signs seemed to be pointing to), one that could twist how magic itself worked, that would’ve been concerning on a good day. But the fact that Valina had a very large task ahead of her, one that she definitively needed her magic for, made it _terrifying._

How could she expect to safely resurrect her master if she couldn’t even trust her magic to work how it should? True enough, it seemed to be working just fine at the moment (she gave her fingers a little snap to reassure herself; the monkey yelped), but the thought of what could happen if things went wrong was enough to make her want to cry. Would her master spend the rest of eternity as segmented soul fragments? Conscious, but unable to focus himself, eternally barred from returning to the living? Or would she merely succeed in ripping his soul into yet more pieces, until whatever he’d once been was gone forever?

She couldn’t take the risk, she realized. As important as it was to bring the master back (as much as she _wanted_ to), she couldn’t do it unless she was absolutely sure the process could be completed safely. One way or another, she was going to have to find out what the source of this mess was, and, if need be, fix it. Only then would she be able to restore her glorious master to his former magnificence.

Valina rose to her feet, mind working furiously. Before she could do anything by way of research, she needed to secure what she could for her master. The Ice Crystal of Vengeance, the Fire of Hate, the Soul of Evil… she wasn’t too concerned about those. Mortals would have a hard enough time reaching them, much less actually handling them. The master’s _skull_ , on the other hand…

“I’m going to ask you one final time, _Simian_ …” she said, approaching the orb briskly. She let her power kick into overdrive, pink flames crackling dangerously from her hands. She finally felt the spark of satisfaction she’d been seeking as the monkey inadvertently recoiled inside his confines.

_“Where. Is. The master’s. Skull?”_

* * *

Antauri was thoroughly lost on what to do.

Mandarin had last been seen in the Dark One Worm, or at least by Chiro’s admission he had. Apparently they’d had a fight, and it was only through Nova’s timely intervention that Chiro had managed to walk away from it alive. When the worm detonated – with Mandarin still inside, as far as they knew – the Team had assumed him dead. And yet, here he stood, clear as anything else in the night, apparently no worse for the wear.

Antauri was bizarrely unsure how he felt about it.

He tried to say something. He wouldn’t have assumed it would be _that_ hard, considering he’d blurted something out once already. Unfortunately, apart from the other’s name, words were not forthcoming. But really, what was there to say when unexpectedly bumping into your ex-leader in the middle of the night, in the middle of _nowhere_ , after previously assuming they were dead?

_“What are you doing here?”_ Same as him, most likely: secret things.

_“What do you want?_ ” He’d never indicated he wanted anything.

_“I thought you were dead!”_ Obviously not.

_“How have you been?”_ No.

Furthermore, Mandarin’s reaction wasn’t offering any indication of how to proceed either. He wasn’t attacking (physically _or_ verbally, which was flagrantly out of character for him), so it wasn’t as if Antauri was going to start. He wasn’t doing much of _anything_ , really, just standing there, watching him silently. Was he waiting for _him_ to act?

Slowly, like he was dealing with a wild animal that might get spooked if he moved too suddenly, Antauri rose from his crouch and gently levitated from his outcrop. Mandarin didn’t react beyond tracking his movements with his eyes. They observed each other for a few moments more before Antauri began tentatively moving forward.

“Mandarin…?” he said again, trying to prompt a response. The monkey opposite him remained cryptically quiet.

Antauri began mentally filing through possible theories for the other’s uncharacteristic silence and stillness. Was he too just trying to make sense of the situation? Was he _hurt_? Antauri knew distantly that he really ought to activate his ghost claws, because as seemingly non-confrontational as he was behaving this was still unquestionably _Mandarin,_ which in and of itself warranted caution…

His claws remained inactivated as he warily crept closer. If Mandarin thought _he_ was displaying aggression, he might rise up to match it, and Antauri would prefer to avoid confrontation if possible. When he got close and Mandarin still made no move to attack, he felt silently vindicated.

Antauri tilted his head to the side, observing him more fully now that he had a better view. His initial summation of his size proved accurate despite it being from a distance: taller than he, shorter than Chiro. He looked haggard and disheveled, and had a useless old scrap of fabric wrapped around him a cloak. He certainly seemed in poorer shape than the last time Antauri had seen him (and fought him, right before the Dark One emerged), but considering he’d evidently been living in a demon’s intestines for months on end, he’d also definitely looked worse.

“Mandarin…” Antauri tried again, “How did—?”

Being a robot, Antauri couldn’t traditionally “see stars.” Instead, his ocular orbs would malfunction so all he saw for a brief moment was static and double images. Which is what happened when something hard and heavy struck him in the temple. He stumbled and landed hard on his side.

So much for vindicated.

He was struck again in the stomach, making him grunt in pain. He rolled away as he tried to will himself to see straight again, and the sound of air whooshing told him he’d just narrowly avoided another blow. He twisted himself upright, coming up in a crouch and finally managing to wrangle his vision back, though still slightly disoriented.

Mandarin was a little ways off, gripping a small, rusted metal sledgehammer with both hands. It looked like he’d scavenged it from an old toolbox somewhere, and had apparently been hiding it underneath his cloak. He moved forward, swinging again, and Antauri only just barely managed to dodge the strike.

Whatever else had happened to him, it seemed that Mandarin’s inclination to _fight_ rather than _talk_ remained the same. Antauri felt an almost nostalgic spike of exasperation, but shooed it away irritably. A fight it was, then.

He activated his ghost claws and slashed viciously. Mandarin danced back, having to abort a swing he’d been winding up for. Instead he took the momentum he’d used to twist away and morphed it into a sweep meant to knock Antauri’s legs out from under him. Antauri removed his feet from the ground altogether and let himself levitate into the air. He dove suddenly, and that the only way Mandarin was able to dodge the attack was to drop his weapon and dart out of the way. Unfortunately, this meant that both his hands were free. Closing the space between them by levitating himself now, Mandarin delivered a devastating punch, this time to Antauri’s other temple. Antauri dropped back again, not in quite as bad shape as the last hit but still a bit shaken. He decided then to end it before things got too out of hand.

He squared up, preparing to unleash a Monkey Mind Scream. Mandarin he saw, appeared to be doing the same. When each was on the precipice of unleashing their attack, a pain in each of their cores flared up, and they both dropped several feet from the air.

It was a rather disappointing and anticlimactic end to their confrontation, all things considered: Both of them writhing in pain on the ground, several feet apart from each other. Even Antauri, who’d initially wanted to avoid conflict, had to admit it was a low-point.

The spasms in the Power Primate abated, and both were left shuddering from its aftereffects. There was a moment of quiet wherein neither moved, before Antauri quietly asked, “You felt it too…?”

Mandarin (who Antauri had to twist to see, positioned as they were) made a scathing sound in the back of his throat. “ _No_ , Antauri, I felt nothing; I’m lying on the ground because I like it down here. _Of course_ I ‘felt it,’ nitwit!”

Antauri frowned, but said nothing further, shifting back into his original position. A moment later he heard Mandarin struggling to rise, so he reluctantly did the same in case the other chose to resume their previous spar.

Once standing, he turned and saw that Mandarin didn’t actually look too inclined to do so. Though upright, he was still on the ground, sitting cross-legged, with his arms wrapped tightly around his abdomen like he had a particularly bad stomachache. He was also glaring fit to melt iron, but that was typical.

“None of the rest of the Team feel it as strongly as I do,” Antauri supplied coolly, perhaps hoping to elicit some kind of penitence for the other’s snappy remark.

Predictably, it did no such thing. Mandarin snorted, rolling his eyes. “ _Obviously_. You need to beat that lot over the head if you want them to sense anything. They’re as collectively attuned as a broken radio.”

Antauri’s frown turned to a scowl, not appreciating the derogatory tone directed at his teammates. Not that he could say anything back, really. While the tone was derogatory, the sentiment wasn’t exactly _wrong_ …

“What are you doing out here, Mandarin?”

Mandarin had the audacity to look indignant. “What am _I_ doing out here?? _I_ am a homeless vagabond, thanks to you ingrates; I can be wherever I want because I have nowhere better to be. _You_ have a bed you could be sleeping in right now and a job you have to get up for in the morning; what are _you_ doing out here?”

Antauri said nothing for a moment, before finally conceding, “Investigating.”

“How illuminative. Investigating _what?_ ”

Antauri’s expression started to sour.  “The _Power Primate,_ Mandarin. You ought to know that.”

“And the middle of the night is the best time to do that, _obviously,_ ” Mandarin said snidely.

Antauri felt his irritation spike dangerously, so he paused to calm himself, willing it to dissipate. Finally, he asked again, “What are _you_ doing out here?”

Mandarin sneered, pushing himself to his feet as well. “What do you _think_? Same as you. But this being essentially a _desert_ —” he gestured widely at their barren surroundings, “—which are prolifically _hot_ during the day, by necessity I _have_ to travel by night. _You_ have a ship to make the journey. _I_ , as you are aware, am currently lacking such an advantage.”

Mandarin’s tone was as pompous and deriding as it ever was, but Antauri easily ignored it in light of the new information. “Wait, what?”

“What do you mean _‘what’?_ Since I don’t have a ship to keep the elements at bay, I’d be roasted alive trying to make the trek during the _day_ so—”

“No, why would you be out here for the Power Primate?”

Mandarin huffed. “I was following one of the trails.”

Ah, that was right; Antauri had forgotten Mandarin could do that. So if Mandarin was headed in the same direction _he_ was, considering his ability, then at least it meant Antauri wasn’t too far off the mark. But the confirmation that he was on the right track and the horrifying implication that there was apparently _more than one_ source to the problem could all be unpacked later. He still had something he needed to get to the bottom of.

“Why would you care what happens to the Power Primate?”

Mandarin gave him an outraged, incredulous look. “ _It’s the Power Primate._ I’d rather _not_ lose the last vestige of power I have left, and even more pressingly I’d rather not _die. You_ of all monkeys should have internalized the lessons we were taught of the importance the Power Primate holds in the universe more than anyone. At least I would have thought so, given how constantly willing you were to lick Xan’s boots—”

“You didn’t seem to care much before when you were helping to _corrupt_ it,” Antauri cut in, anger beginning to poke through despite his best efforts to keep it at bay.

“ _Excuse me?!”_ Mandarin sputtered. “I helped do _what_ now?”

Antauri tilted his head, confusion beginning to mingle with his irritation. Was he just playing dumb? To what end? “Well, you certainly didn’t seem to have any objections when Skeleton King was using it to awaken the Dark One, anyway.”

“I never—!” Mandarin froze abruptly. “…the clone…” he muttered. Then, furiously, “ _You actually thought that clone was me?!_ ”

Antauri, recognizing it as his turn to be monstrously confused, rose to the occasion grandly. “Erm…?”

“Could pick _the boy_ out of a literal lineup, oh of _course_ , but you thought that _shoddy copy—_ and go back a moment, did you say _‘Dark One_ ’?? You actually thought that I’d be insane enough, that I’d be _stupid_ enough—!!”

Antauri was now thoroughly overwhelmed, and recognized that Mandarin’s ranting was about to go past the point of no return. He held up both hands in what was (hopefully) a calming and defensive gesture. “Mandarin, _slow down_ , please. What are you talking about?”

“I was _cloned!_ ” he exploded, anger far from spent. “After the cloning project with the boy failed, Skeleton King cloned _me_ and replaced me with it! That’s what you’ve been dealing with since that point!”

Antauri blinked. In hindsight, that did explain how Mandarin could be standing in front of him now rather than floating around deep space in pieces…

“If it makes you feel any better,” Antauri tried, “it’s likely dead now.”

“Small mercies,” Mandarin spat, bitterness and sarcasm dripping off the words. “Now go back to this ‘Dark One’ nonsense.”

Antauri sighed as best he could without lungs, suddenly feeling very tired. “Skeleton King corrupted the Power Primate to use it to awaken a Dark One. That’s – presumably – what’s wrong with it now.” Mandarin’s sour expression dissolved into shock and muted concern. Antauri went on, “He was destroyed in the process, and afterwards everything appeared to be back to normal until…” Antauri gave another non-sigh. “Until now.”

Mandarin stood there for a moment, processing the information. “He… _corrupted_ the Power Primate?” he asked at last. “ _Intentionally?_ ” He gave a laugh that was disbelieving, exasperated, and enraged all at once. “Did that— that— complete and utter _imbecile_ not know what could happen?”

“He was using it to try to free a Dark One,” Antauri pointed out morosely, “so destruction was his goal from the start. I don’t suspect he cared.”

Mandarin growled through clenched teeth, rubbing his face tiredly. “And you’re out here doing what, again? ‘Investigating,’ you said?”

Antauri hesitated. “One of Skeleton King’s followers was stationed in the Zone of Wasted Years. I was headed there to find out if she’s the cause of the current deterioration, as Skeleton King was last time.”

“You mean you don’t _know?_ ”

“Not— not at the moment, but—”

“You came all the way down here in the middle of the night just to _check?”_ Mandarin spat disbelievingly. “How exactly did you plan to confirm that? _Ask_ her? An acolyte of Skeleton King would be more than happy to discuss their plans with a Hyperforce member, I’m _so_ sure.” Antauri tried to cut in to defend himself, but Mandarin went on, “And what precisely were you going to do if you found out that she _wasn’t_ the cause of this, hm?”

Feeling remarkably like a rebuked child, Antauri shot back coldly, “You seemed to be headed in the same direction I was; what were _you_ doing?”

Mandarin crossed his arms petulantly. “…investigating.” Antauri’s shoulders squared victoriously, and Mandarin’s glare intensified. “Wipe that look from your face! I’m out here because I have a viable lead to follow; _you’re_ here because of a lucky guess!”

Antauri, rather than fall for Mandarin’s petty jab, asked, “Do you truly think the trails you’ve found in the Power Primate lead to the source of the corruption?”

“I can’t imagine what else they’d lead to.”

Antauri was quiet, weighing his options even though he knew he didn’t really have much of a choice at all. Finally he said, “Mandarin… I may need your help.”

“My _help?!_ ” he squawked. “After everything you’ve—? You have the _nerve—?!_ ”

“You said it yourself, Mandarin, I’m…” Antauri winced, “I’m only here on a lucky guess. I don’t know how to fix this, or even really where to start. You have insight on how to proceed and _I_ —” he emphasized, raising his voice just slightly as Mandarin started to cut in, “—have resources that _you_ need. This will go a lot smoother for both of us if we help each other. And you know what’ll happen if we fail.”

Mandarin stood, arm’s still crossed, expression and posture still heavy with suspicion and dislike, and didn’t respond.

Antauri remembered an old trick that might get him to agree, though honestly it was the last thing he wanted to do at the moment. After dallying as long as he could, he finally bit the bullet and said, “Please, Mandarin, you’re the only one with the knowledge and power who can help me.”

Something flashed briefly in Mandarin’s eyes. He still didn’t speak, but Antauri knew he had him.

When in doubt, appeal to his ego. Antauri felt a shiver run through his circuitry. He suspected it might be disgust.

“…I want a pardon.”

Antauri’s head tilted. “Excuse me?”

“When we’re done, I want some sort of guarantee that you lot won’t try to put me back into stasis. For lack of a better term, I want a pardon.”

Antauri frowned. “Then I would like a guarantee that you won’t try anything underhanded against us afterwards as well.”

Mandarin waved his hand. “What I do with my time after we’re done is my business; you’re the one asking for _my_ help; _I_ set the conditions, not you.” Seeing Antauri’s expression deepen into outright mistrust, he snarled and amended, “I won’t try anything _during_ our time working together, and should our paths cross by way of confrontation _afterwards,_ you’re free to respond accordingly. Are those terms to your liking?”

Ignoring the mockery that coated the entirety of his last sentence, Antauri considered. Eventually, he ground out, “I’ll need to discuss it with the Team.”

The desire to bite his lip came back and hit Antauri full force as he spoke. Oh Mystics… he was going to have to tell the Team. Working on his own to fix a problem was one thing, working with an _enemy_ – much less making _deals_ with them – was another thing entirely. Would they be upset with him for not telling them right away? How much could he get away with _still_ not telling them? How on Shuggazoom was he going to convince them to actually work with _Mandarin_ again? He fought to keep his anxiety out of his expression, and resolved to play it by ear when the moment came.

(A horrible plan, really, but anything to not have to think about it for just a little while longer.)

“We should start heading back, then,” he said, turning in the direction of the Moon Buggy. “I’ll have to inform the Team before we proceed any further. I have a vehicle this way—”

“I think not.”

Antauri turned back around, confused.

Mandarin went on, “I’m not going back with you just to be put in lockdown and monitored every second of the day. Particularly not before I have any kind of security that you’ll honor my demands.” He turned, looking away dismissively. “I’ll be in touch when I’m prepared to head out again.”

“Mandarin, you know that after everything I can’t simply leave you to your own devices—”

Mandarin looked back, taking a step forward and leaning in, challenging. “You want my help? Those are my conditions. If you don’t like them then go rally the Team, try to stuff me back into stasis, and go back to stumbling around in the middle of the night, hoping you trip on some answers.” His glare hardened. “I’m standing in the middle, Antauri; either meet me here or leave me alone.”

They stared at each other for several seconds, mutual dislike and mistrust mixing in their gazes. Finally, Antauri bit out a curt, “very well,” before activating his rocketpack and taking off.

Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Mandarin below him, moving to retrieve his sledgehammer from the ground. Eventually, he couldn’t see him at all.

* * *

Chiro couldn’t wait any longer; he needed to talk to Antauri _now_.

He’d felt it again. He’d _just_ been starting to fall asleep when he was jolted back awake by the pain of the Power Primate freaking out. He’d spent another couple hours trying to calm himself down before he decided he _couldn’t_ and had to talk to Antauri.

Covers flung off, quickly padding to the door, he wondered why he hadn’t just gone to Antauri before when he couldn’t sleep. He’d done it before, Antauri didn’t mind. (Chiro only acknowledged on the basest level that he _knew_ why he hadn’t gone to Antauri right away: he was scared what he might find out.) Hastily walking down the hall, he opened Antauri’s door and slipped inside his room—

He wasn’t there.

Chiro looked around, confused, but quickly turned and left to search the rest of the Robot. He didn’t have the forethought to question the strange circumstance the moment.

Just before he reached his own tube, Antauri came shooting up his.

“Antauri!” Chiro exclaimed, rushing over to him.

“ _Chiro_?” Antauri queried back, and Chiro didn’t think he’d ever seen him look so taken aback before.

Whatever, he hadn’t been expecting to see him as he entered the floor. Fair enough. Chiro had bigger things to worry about.

“Antauri, I really need to talk to you. I know you said to wait until morning but I just _can’t,_ I’m sorry—”

“It’s… It’s alright, Chiro. There’s something I need to discuss with you as well.” He made a small gesture to move forward. “Let’s move out of the hall first.”

They ended up convening in Antauri’s room, and the second the door closed behind them Chiro started talking again.

“Antauri I think there’s something wrong with the Power Primate. Over the last couple days I’ve had this really weird feeling, and sometimes there’ll be flashes where it just _hurts_ , and I didn’t recognize it at first but now I’m positive of it—”

Antauri tried to interject, but not having said all he needed to say yet, Chiro kept going.

“—and nobody else seems to notice. I mean everyone sorta did right before Sprx and Gibson crashed, but they didn’t any of the times before then. I just felt it again like a couple hours ago and I just— I feel like I’m the only one actually feeling any of this. I don’t know what to do.”

Antauri tried again to cut in, looking deeply upset, but by this point Chiro was spiraling and couldn’t have stopped if he wanted to.

“And I don’t know if this is stupid or not but I can’t stop thinking that maybe it’s because I _messed up_. I mean— I’m the Chosen One, right? _Supposedly?_ What if I’m the cause of this? This happened before because of Skeleton King, but then it went back to normal for a while, and for you guys it still seems it _is_ normal, but what if I— what if I did something I wasn’t supposed to, and-and now I’m losing it?” Antauri tried to speak again, but Chiro, not paying attention, added over him, “Or what if I _didn’t_ do something that I _was_ supposed to do? And, and—”

But Chiro had finally run out of words. He looked at Antauri, hands shaking and out of breath. Antauri looked… Chiro couldn’t quite place it. _Surprised_ , almost, but there was something under that.

“…what is it you feel you were supposed to do?” he asked after a few seconds.

Chiro shrugged miserably. “I don’t know. Just… maybe there was something big that I was supposed to do and… _didn’t_? That sounds like something that could cause the Power Primate to go nuts, right? A Chosen One failing his duty?” He looked down at his feet, feeling sick and ashamed. “I can’t think of any other explanation…”

There was another seconds-long pause, before Antauri slowly said, “Chiro I’ve… I’ve also been sensing a disturbance in the Power Primate…” Chiro looked up, nervousness swelling in his chest. Antauri observed him for a moment, closed his eyes briefly, then went on, “It’s… it’s likely merely the aftereffects of the Skeleton King’s corruption the first time. It’s simply the Power Primate working to repair itself.”

That… that was _not_ the horrible news he’d been expecting.

“Wait, _really_?”

Again, Antauri paused. “Yes,” he said. Then again, more firmly, “Yes, that’s all it is.” He looked away suddenly, eyes darting to the ground. “I— I wanted to make sure that was the case before I told the rest of the Team, so none of you would worry. I am… so, so sorry for having caused you this much stress, Chiro.”

Chiro actually burst out laughing, which made Antauri’s eyes snap back to him, but that was okay. He hadn’t messed up at all! It was all just some stupid misunderstanding! He felt almost exhausted with relief.

“Antauri that’s… oh _Shuggazoom_ that’s great to hear, oh my gosh,” he said, exhaling a laugh and running a hand through his hair. “Oh man, I wish I’d talked to you earlier…”

Antauri gave him a smile that looked slightly cracked at the edges. “Yes… I wish I’d talked to you earlier as well.”

Chiro held up his hands comfortingly. “Hey, look, don’t feel bad about not saying anything, okay? I wouldn’t want to worry any of you guys either if it were me. Everything’s good now, right?”

Antauri nodded, though his smile still looked a little broken. Poor guy. Chiro hoped he wouldn’t beat himself up too much about this…

He smiled in what he hoped was an encouraging way, before he was abruptly overtaken by a massive yawn. “Aw jeeze… I think I’m gonna go back to bed now, Antauri, I’m kinda just starting to feel how late it is.”

“That’s a good idea. Good night, Chiro.”

“Night Antauri.”

Just before exiting the room, Chiro paused at the door. It was stupid – _childish_ , honestly, but there was still a tiny part of him that needed to hear the words before he’d be able to let the matter rest. Turning back to Antauri, he asked, “So everything’s gonna be okay?”

Again, Chiro couldn’t quite place Antauri’s expression. “…yes. Everything’s going to be okay.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> LYING LEADS TO CRYING KIDS, DON'T DO IT.


	5. The Kook Flew Over His Own Nest

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not sure how I feel about this chapter. Hopefully it's not too disappointing for you guys. It's not quite as eventful as the last one, but fingers crossed that you still find it entertaining.

When Gyrus had taken over the off-world prison, he’d made a point of removing himself from its security systems. It was protocol for the prison staff to take genetic samples from all the prisoners (or their operating frequency, in the case of robotic prisoners), and enter them into their computers. If a prisoner tried to leave the premises without one of the staff inputting their specific security code (another safety measure, each prisoner was assigned an individualized code), they’d be detected by the scanners and the entire prison would go into lockdown.

Gyrus hadn’t had any reason to leave the prison at the time. He’d learned prior that The Monkey Team was somewhere in deep space, so far away he couldn’t even hope to track them (and he’d definitely tried). What was the point of returning to Shuggazoom if they weren’t there? It wasn’t as though there was anything actually worth his time on the stupid little planet. He’d been heartbroken that they’d left without him, but consoled himself that they would come back – _had_ to come back – and he’d talk to them then.

Anyway, why would he want to leave the prison when he’d essentially become king of it? Even more than that, why would he want to go to _Shuggazoom_ – which seemed to eternally delight in crushing his dreams – when he could use the Neuro-Matter Reconfignatron to go to _Krinklezoom_ , where he was finally given the respect and admiration he deserved? Honestly, there was no contest.

Still, he hadn’t liked the idea of being trapped, however technical it was, so he’d erased himself from the system. He was presently very glad he’d done so, because it meant that after waking up in the prison’s basement he’d been able to make his escape quietly and without further incident.

Shuggazoom looked the same as it ever had, which made both his lip curl in distaste and his longing for Krinklezoom almost unbearably strong. He’d gone back home— well, he’d gone back to his _house_. It wasn’t his true home. His _true_ home was the Super Robot, but he couldn’t quite go there yet, so he’d sadly had to settle for the depressing little hovel he and his mother lived in.

She was still there, by the way. _Mother_. Sitting in a corner, collecting spider webs, rebooting only when he entered the room. Which wasn’t unusual; he’d programmed her that way, after all. She was only functional when she detected him in the house, otherwise she went into sleep-mode. He hadn’t seen any reason for her to remain awake and waste power otherwise. What purpose did she have if he wasn’t around? She was his mother, after all, and without him around to… well, _mother_ , by definition she had nothing to do. It was just a shame she was so horrible at it…

She was upstairs now, shrieking at him as he tried to work. Really, how he managed to get anything accomplished under these conditions was a marvel in and of itself.

More than anything, Gyrus wanted to head over to the Super Robot, which he could still see standing ever vigilant just beyond his window. He had half a mind to tell the Team off, honestly. Perhaps even more than that, considering all they’d done to him. Lying to him, betraying him, unjustly _imprisoning_ him, the list went on and on. But he knew that wouldn’t get him anywhere – they were all so _stubborn,_ he’d noticed, particularly when they were in the wrong but didn’t want to admit it – so instead he had to stay here and plan.

He was sat at his worktable, hunched over his newest project. He had his plan, now he just needed to build the thing to make it possible. It was, admittedly, a little more challenging this time around. The only parts he had to work with were the ones lying around the house (it wasn’t as if he could go out to buy more, not with things being so complicated between him and the Team nowadays). But he persisted. He wasn’t just working for himself this time, after all. He had a promise to keep.

Something twisted painfully as he thought of Krinklezoom. Oh, how he wanted to go back. A part of him wondered if he even should have left. If he should have stayed and tried to rebuild. He firmly told himself for what felt like the hundredth time that he’d done the right thing. It was his destiny to lead the Hyperforce, and the Hyperforce was out _here_.

Not that he _wouldn’t_ have stayed if the situation had called for it. It would’ve been different if there’d been any citizens left, obviously. If there had been people who had needed a leader to pull them through the travesty, of course he would have stayed. But there _hadn’t_ been. And even then, Gyrus had a feeling the people of Krinklezoom would have urged him to forget about them and move on anyway. “The city is coming apart at the seams, Gyrus,” they would have said. “You need to get out before it’s too late.”

He’d have argued with them, of course: “I won’t abandon you!” he’d cry, but the masses would collectively shake their heads. Someone (Krinkslapper, he suspected) would come forward and grasp his shoulder.

“This city is falling apart,” he’d say. “It’s not going to make it. We can’t ask you to stay and sacrifice yourself just for us. You’re too good to lose, Gyrus; worth more than all Krinklezoom and your _old_ city put together.”

Krinkslapper would have a point, obviously. Still, Gyrus would refuse to give up. “But you don’t _know_ if the city will make it or not!” he’d say. “If we all pull together, maybe we can—”

“Gyrus,” Krinkslapper would say firmly. “There’s nothing more you can do for us here. You’re needed elsewhere.”

“We’ll never forget you dear,” Ma Krinko would say from the back.

“You were the best darn hero this city’s ever seen,” Pa would add.

And then the crowd would cheer words of encouragement, urging him to go, even though there wouldn’t be a dry eye among them. How could there be, when they were all watching their hero and idol leave? Gyrus himself would feel his eyes start to sting, but he wouldn’t let a single tear fall. He would be strong for them. He’d give a determined nod, and then turn to leave before he could change his mind. He’d make his exit with the cheering of his admirers at his back.

…that’s how it _would have_ gone, anyway. Yet another bitter weed in the garden of Gyrus’s heart: Instead of a supportive, poignant sendoff into the hell that was reality, he’d had to stoically go it alone.

He picked up a needle-nose plyers, and began fiddling with some wiring. Just one more thing to make the Team atone for, he thought. Didn’t they realize how alone they’d left him? How cruel they’d been? Didn’t they stop to consider—

“What _is it_ , Mother?!” he shouted angrily at the upper floors. She was squawking almost nonstop now, and since he’d been _trying_ to tune her out, he had no idea what over.

“ _Look outside, Gyrus!”_

Gyrus irritably turned in his seat to look out the window. Nothing. The Robot stood same as ever.

“At _what_ , Mother?!”

“Come _up here_ and look, Gyrus! Come look out the window!”

Throwing down his tools disgustedly, Gyrus stalked over to the elevator. Not for the first time, he thought about dismantling the old crone. He had important work to do, and here she was dragging him away from it. He really shouldn’t have to stand for it—

“Look at _what_ , Mother?” he asked icily as he exited onto the main floor. Shuddering mechanically, the old bot pointed at the far window. Looking out, Gyrus saw (just barely) two dark jet trails cutting through the sky far in the distance. Not seeing any particular significance and annoyed at having to come all the way upstairs for nothing, he turned and glared back at her.

“I saw the rockets from those silly monkeys you love,” she explained. If she’d had a lip, it would have curled at the word “monkeys.” Mother had never approved of his dedication to the Team. Called it an “unhealthy fixation,” telling him that he needed to learn to live the life he _had_ rather than bury himself in a dream. At one point she’d even told him – _to his face_ – “nothing good will come of this obsession.”

_This_ was why he needed to reunite with his true family so desperately; she’d never given him the support he needed. Still, he bore with it. All proper heroes had tragedies and hardships they’d had to overcome. One day he’d tell the story of his cruel, deriding mother, and people would weep in sympathy and commend him for his remarkable inner strength.

She went on, “I saw one swerve into the other one and they both went down; I’m surprised you didn’t feel them land from your little ‘workshop’—”

But Gyrus, processing what she was saying, had run to the other side of the house. The view of the Super Robot wasn’t as good as it was from his workshop, but he could still see, now that he really looked, that the two Fist Rockets were missing.

_Evening patrol_ , Gyrus realized. Sprx, Gibson, and Antauri rotated amongst themselves for who would do a few rounds through the city to make sure no trouble was brewing. It was usually those three because Nova, Otto, and Chiro’s vehicles were all rather integral to the structure of the rest of the Robot, so if any of them went the rest would have to go too. Moreover, having ships designed for flight, the other three could typically cover more ground.

If Sprx and Gibson weren’t there now… and if what Mother was saying was true…

Gyrus bolted back into the elevator. His mother said something else to him as he went, but he’d stopped listening. Hastily gathering some tools, he got back into the elevator before sprinting out the door.

This was his _chance_. He might not even need to bother with his original plan, this could work even better! He just had to get there before the rest of the Team did…!

He could see it all clearly in his mind’s eye: Sprx and Gibson, trapped and helpless in their ships, trying to call in the rest of the Team for help. Maybe the signal wouldn’t be able to get through. Maybe it would, but – desperate and terrified – the Team wouldn’t know if they’d be able to get to them in time. Either way, things would look bleak. Suddenly, just when they were about to give up all hope, Gyrus would arrive! He’d rush to Fist Rocket 3— ooh, or should he go to Fist Rocket 4? Which monkey did he want to save first?

After careful consideration, Gyrus settled on going to Gibson first. Gibson, having a more delicate constitution as a mere scientist – as opposed to a seasoned pilot, like Sprx – would be the one to panic, Gyrus decided, and would appreciate his opportune rescue more. Not that Sprx _wouldn’t_ be panicking, of course, but his would be more resigned, more accepting of his grisly fate. It would make him all the more impressed when he saw Gyrus slice a hole into the side of his Fist Rocket to snatch him out of harm’s way, already heroically cradling the injured Gibson to his chest.

He’d extract both monkeys from the wreckage of their ships, and deposit them a safe distance away just as the rest of the Team arrived on the scene. They would all be shocked to see him, but upon hearing Sprx and Gibson’s retelling of his heroic efforts—

_No no—!_ Sprx and Gibson would manage to call the Team, but then would promptly fall unconscious! So he’d have to save the helpless monkeys without them even knowing it yet, and the rest of the Team would arrive as he was working to resuscitate them! They’d still be shocked to see him (though secretly impressed as they watched him valiantly fight to bring the two pilots back to consciousness), but this way they’d get to watch him save Sprx and Gibson a second time. There’d be a moment where it would look like he wasn’t going to be able to wake one of the monkeys up (Sprx, it would _have_ to be Sprx), but of course he would. The Team would cheer as the pilot gasped his breath back and began blinking his eyes open once more. Then there would be a heartfelt moment where the Hyperforce admitted they were wrong about him, praising his bravery and quick-thinking, and begged his forgiveness. Ever compassionate, Krinkle would give it to them. He’d be welcomed home like the hero he was, and then the next day he’d further cement his place on the Team by letting Otto help him fix the Fist Rockets.

It took him several minutes to actually locate them (smoke trails in the sky weren’t very reliable compasses on the ground), so when he finally got to the Fist Rockets, they were both smoldering and dream-shatteringly empty.

Gyrus shook himself off as best he could. The universe had decided _not_ to go the way it was supposed to. Fine. He was used to taking things and _making_ them what they ought to be, this time wouldn’t be any different.

He walked over to the charred ships to survey the damage and decide what tool he’d need first. He had a lot of work to do.

* * *

It wasn’t so much that Nova _couldn’t_ sleep, it was that she couldn’t seem to _stay_ asleep. Which honestly was that much more annoying, at least in her opinion. There were only so many times she could wake up and go ‘nope, still not morning yet’ before things got frustrating, and she was at least three instances _past_ that particular point.

The first few times, she’d come out of a dreamless sleep and had an immediate feeling of _ugh, this again_. The final time she was jolted out of a nightmare, and woke up feeling alarmed and disoriented. The familiar view from her bed – Mr. Tuffy and Rocko sitting on the floor next to the battleaxes – helped her locate herself, but even as she stared at them her heart raced.

She’d dreamt about the crash.

The sequence had jumped around: First she was in the Fist Rocket with Sprx as he lost control of the ship. Then she _was_ Sprx, losing control because the Fist Rocket’s operating systems were too different from Foot Crusher Cruiser 6 and she didn’t know how to fly it. Then she was standing back in the Robot as Otto told everyone with a shaking voice that he couldn’t save him, the import had gone too far into his brain, he was gone, he was dead—

Then she was back in the Fist Rocket, watching helplessly as the ground drew closer and closer. There was a sharp, horrible pain as the ship crunched into the ground, and she woke up shaking.

The scariest part was that the pain hadn’t gone away completely when she woke up. She could still feel it faintly in her core. Was this what Sprx had felt? Was this that weird feeling they’d all had just before him and Gibson crashed? Antauri was always saying they were connected by the Power Primate, but that was the first time she’d ever actually _felt_ one of her teammates in trouble.

She rolled onto her back and rubbed her eyes, trying to brainstorm things that would inspire deep, dreamless sleep. She knew of exactly one, which was to be chemically put under. Aaaand she didn’t know exactly which chemicals she needed for that, which was probably stuff she should know before attempting it on herself.

If she couldn’t guarantee that she’d stay asleep (or, at least, that her dreams wouldn’t be absolutely _awful_ ), did she even want to bother?

Nova sat up, pulling the top blanket off her bed and wrapping it around herself. Nope. Nope she didn’t.

She’d left her room with the intent of raiding the kitchen for as much junk food as she could get her hands on, and/or going to the main room to watch TV on the big screen. But as she stepped out of her transport tube she happened to glance towards MedBay, and suddenly there was only one thing she wanted to do if sleep wasn’t going to happen. As she walked in, she found she hadn’t been the only one with the idea.

Otto looked up from his seat on the floor, surprised at the noise. When he realized who’d just come in, he offered a smile that was tired, but trying not to be. Its attempts were thwarted by the bags under his eyes.

Still, she gave points for trying, and smiled back (which to be fair probably looked about as awake as his did). “Hey Otto. Whatcha doing?”

“Aw, y’know…” He rubbed the back of his head before briefly returning his gaze to the healing chambers in front of him. “I was awake, so I just thought I check on these guys.” He turned back to her. “What about you?”

“Same, pretty much,” she said, shrugging through the blanket around her shoulders.

Otto’s tired smile suddenly became very sad. “…nightmare?”

“…yeah. You?”

He shifted uncomfortably, hesitating, before nodding. “I dreamed that when I went to pull Gibson out of the Fist Rocket he – he was already—” Otto swallowed, not finishing. “And then it was that I messed up when I was trying to take the import outta Sprx’s head, and then _he_ was—” Again, Otto stopped short, this time pulling up his knees and resting his arms and chin on them morosely. “…were yours bad?”

He didn’t need to ask what they’d been about, Nova noticed. “I dreamt I was Sprx when the Fist Rocket went down,” she said. “It was… ugh, it was horrible.”

(She didn’t mention she’d also had a dream of the operation on Sprx failing. She didn’t think Otto needed to hear that right now.)

Otto winced sympathetically. “Yeesh…”

“Yeah. Yours didn’t sound like much fun either,” she said joining him on the floor.

“Not really.”

“Kinda weird we both had the same reaction to it, huh?”

Otto gave her another smile. “Nah, we’ve always been on the same soundwave.”

She felt the corners of her mouth twitch up. “Y’mean ‘wavelength’?”

“Yeah! That!” His smile grew wider, if only a bit. “You were smart and brought a blanket though. I’ve just kinda been sittin’ here.”

Nova’s smile grew too, and she raised an arm, creating an opening in her blanket cocoon.

Otto didn’t need further invitation and scooted closer, adjusting the blanket around his shoulders. “Thanks Nova!”

They didn’t talk for about a minute after that, which under normal circumstances wouldn’t have been uncomfortable at all. It still wasn’t, not exactly. More like it was… uneasy. Not with each other, just… uneasy.

“It’s almost kinda funny we’re so messed up by this, huh?” Nova asked suddenly. “We do this all the time, right?” Suddenly hearing what she’d just said, she hastily amended, “I mean, not like _funny_ -funny, not like any part of this is ‘ha ha!’ –worthy, I just meant like… you’d think we’d be used to this kinda stuff by now, y’know?”

“I don’t think this is something you get used to…” Otto mumbled, staring sadly at Gibson’s healing chamber.

“…I know.” She tilted her head so it was resting on his shoulder. “This whole thing just feels _weird_ , and I don’t know _why_ it’s weird.”

His arm wrapped around her shoulders under the blanket, and he tilted his head on top of hers. “Yeah… me neither.”

Conversation petered to a halt, and both monkeys let it. The unspoken agreement seemed to be that it felt better to silently take comfort in each other’s company instead. Their friends were _here_ and as okay as they could be considering the circumstances, regardless of what their dreams said about it.

Nova hadn’t even realized she’d fallen asleep until she was waking up some time later. Something was making a noise. She was momentarily discombobulated before she realized that it was coming from the healing chambers.

Their fluid was draining. That meant…

“They’re waking up!” she said loudly, jolting Otto awake as well. He had the expression of someone who’d woken up in a place they were at least 75% sure they hadn’t fallen asleep in: confused and dully alarmed.

Nova didn’t have time for that. She pushed herself to her feet and gently shook his shoulder to try to get him to rouse faster. “Otto, they’re waking up! Go get Chiro and Antauri!”

Otto yawned, still looking confused. “Uh… who’s up, Nova?” Comprehension suddenly ( _visibly_ ) caught up to him, and he blinked hard as his eyes brightened. “Sprx and Gibson are up?”

Nova barely had time to nod before he ran out of MedBay. She took the opportunity to move to help Sprx and Gibson stagger out of their respective healing chambers.

* * *

Gibson had been in and out of the Super Robot’s healing chambers many times. It was – statistically speaking – unavoidable, given his line of work. That did not mean it was something he enjoyed experiencing, however.

More often than not, waking up from such was accompanied by a severe sense of misplacement. Gibson loathed the feeling of being clueless, so that split second of _where am I how did I get here what’s going on_ never failed to make something twist inside him uncomfortably. To say _nothing_ of what it usually took to render him in a state that required a healing chamber, which was consistently unpleasant. Much more so when he could still feel their results even _after_ being treated.

Which was, unhappily, precisely his current situation.

Gibson groaned and stumbled a bit. His entire chest cavity _ached_. Particularly his left side, which felt raw. The shining lights dancing above his head made him squint, so he couldn’t quite tell where he was. Logic slowly crawled out of its comatose stupor to exasperatedly remind him of the only place he really _could_ be, and Gibson felt a frown crease his mouth. One of these days, he told himself, he was going to develop a chemical that would grant immediate coherency upon regaining consciousness, and then he was going to have it continually pumped into the healing chambers.

(Not that it would do him any good in this instance. Even though he now understood _where_ he was, the _why_ and _how_ were not forthcoming. Quite worrisome.)

Gibson was suddenly overtaken by a horrendous head rush, and wobbled and swayed where he stood.

“Whoawhoawhoa take it easy, Gibson!”

His awkward staggering was abruptly halted by something sturdy materializing next to him, giving him a thing to latch on to and steady himself. Through his swimming vision, he was able to make out the color yellow.

He started to say “Thank you, Nova,” but then another voice cut in.

“Don’t fall and break that egghead of yours, Brainstrain. It’s cracked enough as it is.”

Oh good _grief._ Gibson squinted around (the closest he could get to glaring at the moment), trying to locate Sprx, only to find the splotch of red he was seeking was actually _behind_ the yellow. Apparently Nova was supporting them both. It took him a few seconds to process the significance of that (abysmally slow, really, given his considerable intellect; he was thoroughly disappointed in himself): whatever had affected Gibson had affected Sprx as well.

Funny how little things could trigger memories. Evening patrol, the Fist Rockets, the _crash_ …

Gibson groaned quietly, and felt Nova’s grip on him shift anxiously.

“Let’s get you guys over to the tables…”

Moving like they weren’t there (or at least that’s how it felt to Gibson, he barely had to move his feet at all as he was guided across the room), Nova maneuvered both monkeys over to the examination tables and gently deposited them on top of such. Gibson heard Sprx hiss as she tried to lay him on his table, followed by Nova’s hurried apologies as she worked to arrange him in a more comfortable position.

The doors to MedBay opened, and with his vision having since returned to normal (almost, anyway, things were still a bit blurry around the edges) Gibson turned to look. His remaining teammates where hurriedly filing into the room. They all looked varying shades of exhausted.

Well, save for Antauri, of course, who no longer had to actually _sleep_ but rather recharged. Not that Gibson could ever really recall Antauri looking any such thing even when he _had_ had to sleep. He looked concerned, anyway.

Otto was the first one to reach the tables. “How’re you guys feelin’? Does anything still hurt? How many fingers am I holding up?”

“Feel like I just got hit by a truck, everything hurts, and you’re just waving your hands around Otto, knock it off.”

“Sorry Sprx, just checkin’.”

Chiro looked at his injured teammates in succession. “Really though, are you guys feeling okay? You were both really hurt when we first grabbed you.”

Gibson grimaced. “I’m exceedingly sore in multiple areas, but I assure you I’ve been worse, and will bounce back just fine in due time.”

“Speak for yourself,” Sprx grumbled.

Chiro glanced between the pair. “Do you guys… remember anything? About the crash?”

Gibson and Sprx exchanged a look as they silently tried to decide who’d speak first. Sensing reluctance, Gibson took the lead.

“I… regrettably don’t remember the specific series of events that resulted in the crash, no,” he said. “I’m almost certain we weren’t attacked—”

“Yeah,” Sprx cut in, “I don’t remember anything shooting at us either.”

“—but as for what actually happened, I’m afraid I have no clue,” He turned to Otto. “Have you run any tests on the Fist Rockets to see if it was a malfunction of some sort?”

Otto rubbed the back of his head awkwardly. Oh no. “I haven’t got a chance to look at ‘em yet. We, um… we kinda had to leave the Fist Rockets where they crashed? Since we needed to get you guys patched up quick as we could and they were sorta… y’know… on fire…”

“What—?!” Sprx tried to jerk into a sitting position, but suddenly hissed in pain and had to be guided back down by Nova. Gibson sympathized. He might not be the flying aficionado that Sprx was, but he wouldn’t deny a strong emotional attachment to his ship. The thought it might have been reduced to no more than a smoldering wreck was profoundly upsetting.

“Were any parts salvageable?” he asked as evenly as he could.

Otto gave a sad shrug. “No one’s gone to check since we got back to the Robot. We were more worried about getting you guys stable. And then after that we were all kinda…” He made a gesture that indicated low, shaky emotional stability. Gibson briefly debated if Otto was simply _that_ adept at translating complex emotions and scenarios into physical hand gestures, or if he’d simply been around him so long he was able to decode the aforementioned hand gestures without thinking. Something to ponder later.

“Are you sure you don’t remember anything else?” Chiro asked gently.

“No, I’m sorr—” Gibson faltered. He paused to share another look with Sprx, trying to gauge his expression. He looked as concerned and confused as Gibson now felt, bits of memory suddenly returning to him. “Well… actually, I _do_ remember something. Possibly. We crashed into each other before we hit the ground, you see, but just before that I felt something… _off_.”

“Yeah, I felt weird too,” Sprx said, brow crinkling worriedly. “‘Off’s’ putting it kinda lightly though. I felt, I dunno, really _wrong_ all of a sudden.”

Gibson nodded. “It was… highly unpleasant for me as well.”

The rest of the Team (Otto and Nova particularly, he noticed) exchanged worried glances.

“We all felt something weird too,” Nova said before he could ask. “Right before we heard your ships go down.”

That was… exceedingly alarming. Not entirely unpredictable, though. Reasonably speaking, whenever any of them experienced strange, unusual, or “otherworldly” sensations, it was usually the result of the Power Primate, which they were all connected by. It was also reasonable, therefore, that if one felt such, there was a high chance the others would too. The question then became _why_ they had felt it in the first place. Gibson shifted his focus over to the Team’s expert in mysticism, hoping for an explanation – or at the very least a theory or two – as to what was happening.

None came. In fact, Antauri looked very tense all of a sudden. Which was incredibly uncharacteristic of him, to say the least. Chiro was looking at Antauri concernedly, and when he still said nothing Chiro stepped forward.

“Me and Antauri were actually just talking about this. Do you guys remember when Skeleton King corrupted the Power Primate?”

The entire room tensed by way of answer.

“…right, stupid question. Anyway, I’d asked Antauri about it and he said that what we felt was a side-effect from that. It’s just the Power Primate trying to fix itself, basically, so it’s not anything to worry about.”

The tension in the room eased somewhat, though admittedly didn’t fully abate. Off the top of his head, Gibson could already think of several things that made this “something to worry about.” And he was evidently not the only one.

“How long is it gonna take before it’s completely fixed itself?” asked Nova, looking troubled. “I mean… if the feeling it gave us was what caused Sprx and Gibson to crash, what are we gonna do if it happens again when we’re flying the Robot? Or if we’re in a fight?”

Chiro shrugged a bit helplessly. “It’ll take as long as it needs, I guess. In the meantime we’ll all have to be a little extra careful.” Noting the dubious looks he received, he went on, “I mean look at it this way: With Skeleton King gone, it’s not like we have any giant monsters or hordes of formless we’d need to regularly activate the Robot for, right? We’ll just have to patrol the city on foot for a while until we’re sure things are okay. And hey, it took _this long_ for us to feel anything from it, so maybe it’ll be awhile before we feel it again.”

Chiro sounded rather like he was trying to convince and calm himself as much as he was them. At least to Gibson, he did. After a moment’s consideration, he sighed. “Chiro has a point. The circumstances are less than ideal, but there’s nothing more that can be done at present. And though _not_ ideal, they could also be much worse.”

Nova sighed too. “Yeah. Guess you’re right. Just have to be one of those things we learn to live with for a while.”

“We’re all okay now,” Otto said, smiling hesitantly. “That’s gotta count for something, right?”

(Sprx, Gibson realized, would usually have said something cynical and/or sarcastic by now. Instead, he hadn’t said anything. Looking over, he saw him staring at Antauri strangely. Hm.)

Chiro smiled gratefully, and Gibson couldn’t help but think how very, very tired he looked. He had to stop himself from suggesting he go straight to bed and that they could discuss this further in the morning (or was it morning already? after he got some sleep, then). The downside of having a leader so much younger than himself, he supposed.

“Right,” Chiro agreed, nodding at Otto. “Okay, um, how about we forget about that for a sec? We should probably run a quick scan on you guys,” he gestured at Gibson and Sprx, “just to be safe. After that we can have some breakfast or something.”

“Ugh, what time even is it?” Nova asked. “I was thinking about maybe going back to bed after we got everything straightened out, but I guess if it’s late enough I won’t bother.”

Chiro’s face scrunched as he tried to remember. “Uh… I dunno, six o’clock? Five-fifty-ish, if we’re being specific?”

Nova groaned. “Guess I’m up, then. Breakfast it is.”

“What are we gonna do about the Fist Rockets?” Sprx interjected. “We can’t just leave ‘em out there.”

“Yeah, then the Super Robot wouldn’t have any hands!” Otto said, looking worried. “How’ll he hold stuff?”

“Indeed,” said Gibson, blithely sidestepping around the latter portion of Otto’s contribution. “The Super Robot’s structural integrity will be dubious for as long as it’s missing two of its components. The sooner we can retrieve them to assess the damage, the better.”

“After we check you guys out and everything, me, Otto, Nova, and Antauri will go see what we can do,” Chiro said. “You and Sprx should stay here and recover some more.”

“Shouldn’t someone stay behind with them?” Nova asked. “In case they need something, or something else happens?”

Sprx attempted to interject (Gibson predicted something to the effect of “we’ll be fine, don’t worry about it” or a flirtatious joke, it was anyone’s guess really), but Otto spoke over him and said, “I can stay.”

Everyone looked at him. Nova in particular looked a little hesitant. “Otto, shouldn’t you go with Chiro and Antauri? To check out the Fist Rockets, I mean?”

Otto blinked, then smiled sheepishly, rubbing his upper arm. “Heh, oh yeah. I was just thinkin’ that if something happened I could, y’know, run the scanners and stuff.”

“I’ll stay,” Nova said, smiling reassuringly. “If anything comes up that I need an expert for, I’ll comm you right away, okay?”

“You getting the feeling they’re gonna start negotiating babysitting-rates?” Sprx asked Gibson in a false undertone. “Or is it just me?”

Nova rolled her eyes. “Oh, can it.”

“Sure sure. But if you settle for anything less than ten bucks an hour you’re getting ripped off, just saying.”

Gibson mimicked Nova’s exasperated eye roll. As did almost everyone else. Though he had to admit, the aura of the room now seemed much more relaxed than it had been before Sprx’s comment, so he supposed he’d give him that.

* * *

_Done._ It had taken him an entire night (and a better chunk of the morning), but he was finished.

Gyrus took a step back, hands on his hips as he proudly surveyed his work. His eyes were itching with tiredness, but he didn’t care. The Team was going to be _thrilled_ when they saw this. More than thrilled, they’d be _grateful_. If Gyrus hadn’t been there to put out the fires when he did, it was likely the Fist Rockets would have burned past the point of use. He had saved them days – if not weeks, _months_ – of work. He’d toiled tirelessly for hours on end to restore the ships to their rightful glory, all because he cared about the Team. Surely they’d see that now.

He walked forward, beaming, and ran his hand along the side of Fist Rocket 3 fondly. He had made his own additions here and there, and he knew the Team would be impressed. Make no mistake, the Fist Rockets were _superb,_ just as he’d always suspected they’d be _._ Unquestionably top-of-the-line crafts, even when they’d just recently been on fire. But there were certain aspects he felt were a little superfluous, or else just not fitting the “Hyperforce _”_ spirit. He couldn’t wait to explain the changes he’d made to Otto. He’d appreciate all the fine-tuning he’d done. It saddened him a bit that details of his work would go sailing over the majority of the Team’s heads (besides maybe Gibson), but as long as there was at least one monkey he could share them with, he supposed that was okay.

Passersby’s slowed as they walked past the crash site ( _former_ crash site, really; Gyrus had seen to _that_ ), and observed it with an assortment of interest and confusion. It was about mid-morning now, and the city had long since woken up, rolled out of bed, and trundled off to work or school or whatever. Gyrus tried to ignore their prying eyes as they passed and instead focused on his job well done. He felt intruded on if he thought about it too long, otherwise. This was going to be the catalyst that got him onto the Hyperforce. It was no one’s business but his and the Team’s. The citizens didn’t have a right to be anywhere near here right now, “public property” or not.

He wished Sprx and Gibson could have crashed in a more private spot, but he hoped to make the best of it. Maybe if there was enough of an audience they’d start cheering when the Team gave him a heartfelt embrace to show their gratitude…

There was the sound of something approaching, and Gyrus’s heart began beating fervently behind his Adam’s apple.

_Jetpacks_.

Heretheycomeheretheycomeheretheycome—!! Calm down, _calm down_. Gyrus took a deep, slow breath to compose himself. The Team would be confused, maybe even a bit skittish at the sight of him, so he had to make sure he was cool and collected so as not to startle them.

Oh but _wait!_ Maybe he should let them see the Fist Rockets first? They would be able to take in the precision of his repairs at their own pace that way. And then just as they were wondering who the brilliant, kindhearted soul was who’d repaired their ships, he would emerge and surprise them. As they were reeling from the shocking turn of events, he could then calmly explain to them why what’d they’d done was wrong, but he’d forgiven them, and patched up the Fist Rockets besides, because that’s what _friends_ do.

Yes, that was a much better idea. He felt a giddy grin spread across his face – which he curbed quickly, _cool and collected_ now, Gyrus – as he darted behind Fist Rocket 4 to wait. He could hear them getting closer… _closer_ …

“What the…?”

They landed. He heard hurried steps approaching the Fist Rockets. There was a short silence.

“They’re… fine?” That was Chiro. “But… _how?_ ” He heard something shift. He imagined Chiro had turned to his teammates incredulously. He only just barely suppressed a delighted giggle. “Otto, does this have something to do with the hyper armor you installed? Shouldn’t they be like… _charred_ or something? At least?”

Yes, Chiro, they should. And they _would_ , if not for Gyrus.

“The hyper armor stops the _insides_ of the Robot from being damaged, not the outsides,” Otto said, sounding desparately confused. “This is… _really_ weird.”

Oh, Otto. Always so sweet, but so dim. You have no idea.

“Was it just not as bad as we thought it was? Do you think we were so panicked about Sprx and Gibson we built it up in our heads?”

“Nuh-uh. It was _really_ bad inside Fist Rocket 4 last night. They should both be _torched_ by now.”

This was getting just slightly less endearing. Why wasn’t any of the rest of the Team commenting? Why was it only Chiro and Otto? He wanted to hear Nova’s opinion! And Sprx’s! And Antauri and Gibson’s!

“Do you think someone put out the fires or something? One of the citizens, I mean? …and then completely repaired both Fist Rockets in one night, apparently? Okay, never mind…”

What? No! Well, also _yes_ , because someone _had_ put out the fires and repaired both ships, but it wasn’t the stupid citizens!

“I dunno, Chiro.”

“Antauri, do you think this is some sort of trap? Should we risk investigating inside?”

Wait, so Antauri _was_ here? Why wasn’t he saying anything??

Yes! Go inside! They wouldn’t be able to appreciate all his hard work from the _out_ side! There was no trap; why would they think there was a trap?

Realizing that things were starting to take a turn in the wrong direction, Gyrus decided it was time to reveal himself and do some damage control.

He took another deep breath, arranging his expression into something both stern yet benevolent, and stepped out from behind Fist Rocket 4.

“Hello, Monkey Team—”

Gyrus very nearly broke the calm image he’d just crafted for himself. It wasn’t the _whole_ Monkey Team in front of him. It was just Chiro, Otto, and Antauri. He quickly collected himself, though inside his mind was whirring. How was he supposed to impress the Hyperforce with his good deed if half of them weren’t even _here?_ Sprx, Nova and Gibson would only get to hear about his efforts secondhand, and if they weren’t around for the initial whirlwind of emotions it just wouldn’t have the same _effect_ —

“Krinkle?!” Chiro gasped. “Wha—? How did—?”

He had slipped into a fighting stance. Beside him, Antauri and Otto had activated their weapons. Ugh, this was _wrong_ , it was all _wrong—!!_

“How did you escape from Ranger 7 Gyrus?” Chiro barked.

Gyrus’s blood was set to boiling at the mention of the horrible off-world prison, but he reigned himself in. This could still be salvageable. Chiro was just surprised to see him, that was all. He’d have plenty of time to explain the Team’s wrongdoings to them after he was an official member. Now wasn’t the moment.

“I can see you’re all surprised to see me. Don’t worry, I don’t mean you any harm—”

“That’d be a nice change of pace,” Chiro grumbled.

Gyrus felt a muscle in his jaw twitch. He tried again, “I noticed the Fist Rockets were in kind of poor shape. I patched them up for you.”

The Team’s eyes _ought_ to have briefly widened in surprise, before slowly softening to looks of quiet, touched incredulity. Instead, they all hardened.

“What, did you rig them to blow as soon as someone tries to fly them or something?” Chiro snapped. “Or do the screens just display an image that hypnotizes whoever looks at them to thinks _you’re_ the leader of the Hyperforce? _Again?_ ”

His serene exterior was slipping, as hard as he struggled to keep it. His eye was twitching now and his teeth were starting to grind. “I did this to _help_ you!”

Chiro made a curt, harsh sound in the back of his throat, rolling his eyes. Gyrus felt like his throat was closing in rage.

“This is your only warning, Gyrus,” Chiro called, apparently uncaring to reaction he was causing him. “Stand down and surrender!”

This was the thanks he got. _This_ was his thanks. An entire night, _slaving_ selflessly to repair _their_ ships, and this was how they treated him. With suspicion and hostility. _Turncoats, backstabbers, **traitors** —!_

“ _I did this to HELP you!”_ he screamed again.

Chiro remained unmoved, and instead shouted, “Hyperforce, _GO!_ ”

The three moved as one, and even with Gyrus’s righteous rage choking off most coherent thought, survival instincts made his legs turn him around and send him sprinting. His feet were suddenly lifted off the ground, this was Antauri’s doing – Antauri was using his Power Primate powers against _him—?!_

Gyrus thrust his hand into his pants’ pocket, and pressed a button.

Somewhere behind him, he heard the sound of electrical discharge and two robot monkeys hitting the pavement. Chiro’s shocked cries and concerned questions chased him down the street.

( _Better them than Chiro himself,_ he thought ruefully.)

* * *

Despite the initial scare, all Krinkle’s stunt really amounted to (much to Chiro’s relief) was a distraction.

Otto and Antauri, though momentarily woozy, regained their wits fairly quickly. By that time, of course Krinkle was nowhere to be seen. They did their best to canvas the area, but with only the three of them they weren’t able to cover much ground. Moreover, Chiro was expressly against the idea of them splitting up too far from each other to search for him (the thought of Krinkle picking them off one by one in darkened alleyways sprung up and refused to let him go), so ultimately they had to abandon the search fairly quickly.

After comm’ing Nova to inform her of the situation and advising her to activate the Robot’s defenses as a precautionary measure in case Krinkle tried to sneak into the Robot again, he, Otto, and Antauri went back to the Fist Rockets to see if they could scout out (and hopefully contain) any potential traps or sabotages. After passing the two hour mark and coming up empty-handed, they were forced to assume it was because there _weren’t_ any. Which was, in a way, almost more suspicious.

Otto, it seemed, had become less and less concerned with the possibility of booby-traps as time went on, and instead became more concerned with, as he described it, the utterly _baffling_ – if harmless – changes Krinkle had made to the Fist Rocket’s programming and infrastructure.

“It doesn’t make any _sense_ ,” he said, sounding alarmingly like Gibson whenever he was given an illogical solution to an otherwise logical problem. “I mean— yeah, I guess this stuff would work okay if the Fist Rockets were solo-ships – actually they’d probably be kinda cool then – but they’re part of a whole Super Robot!” He started pointing at the various changes, completely befuddled. “ _This_ would slow the time it would take to disengage by _five whole seconds_ , _that_ might cause errors when trying to go back _in_ to machinder mode, and the directional controls are _way_ too close to the screens now! Sprx _hates_ that!”

Chiro glanced around Fist Rocket 3. _There’d been a fire in here last night_ , he reminded himself. And he _had_ to remind himself, because by a glance you’d never be able to tell. The cockpit looked the same as it always had, maybe even a bit cleaner.

(Well, apart from all the changes Otto was talking about, anyway.)

“Do you think they’re safe to fly back to the Robot?” he asked.

Otto didn’t look up from the wiring he was now inspecting with a furrowed brow. “I think so. From what I can tell the changes he made just slow stuff down and make ‘em harder to work with. They’re not actually dangerous, just… weird.”

“That’s a relief, I guess.”

“Yeah. But don’t let Sprx or Gibson try to fly these yet, okay? Not until I’ve had time to really get deep in the systems and double-check. And, y’know, get everything back to normal. Shouldn’t take me more than a few days, so they shouldn’t have to wait _too_ long.”

“I don’t think Sprx or Gibson will be in good enough condition to fly in a few days,” Chiro admitted. “They’re awake and as healed as the chambers can get ‘em, but they’re still pretty banged up. Take all the time you need.”

“Aw, thanks!” Otto gave his head one last, disbelieving shake before finally moving away from the wiring, and turned to Chiro smiling. “Still, I’ll try to get this done as fast as I can, okay?”

Chiro smiled back. “Sure thing, Otto.” He walked over to the door and poked his head out to address Antauri, who’d been looking over Fist Rocket 4.

“Otto says it’s okay to bring the Fist Rockets back to the Robot; can you fly 4?”

Antauri nodded, and with another smile Chiro ducked back into the cockpit and gave Otto the okay for takeoff.

* * *

A couple hours later found Chiro aimlessly wandering the Super Robot. He was completely exhausted thanks to not really sleeping the night before plus the hecticness of the day’s events, but he couldn’t go to bed yet. He’d regret it when he inevitably woke up in the middle of the night and couldn’t get back to sleep if he did. Not to mention that even though he was tired, he was also very _awake_ , if that made any sense, so it would be a moot point anyway.

Since things had (comparatively) calmed down, the Team had split apart to do their own things. Otto had helped Gibson over to Fist Rocket 4 to help him make adjustments, at Gibson’s insistence. A combination of indignation over his ship being altered without his consent and a general dislike of feeling idle had made him adamant that he’d be helping Otto as much as he could in his current state. Antauri and Sprx had opted to hang out in their rooms, and Nova was in the kitchen making a snack. Chiro thought he could smell popcorn, which made sense. Really the only time it was safe to eat popcorn in the Super Robot was when Gibson was otherwise occupied somewhere he couldn’t smell it. Otherwise be prepared to share.

One way or another, Chiro found himself standing in front of Sprx’s door. Well, he already knew Gibson was in good hands, might as well check on the other injured party. He knocked shortly before entering.

Sprx was sitting in one of longer, couch-like (yet still adorably monkey-sized) chairs in his room. He looked up from what he was doing (boredly rubbing off dirt or some other spot from one of his magnets) to throw a tired grin at Chiro.

“Hey Kid. What’s up?”

Chiro smiled back and walked further into the room. Sprx had, in his opinion, the coolest looking room in the Super Robot. Maybe not Chiro’s particular taste, but he had to admit that everything tied together well. Everything was a sleek shade of red, with various models of airships lined on the shelves, interspersed with spare helmets. Sprx was the only monkey to keep spare parts in his room besides Otto, and Otto typically just had the parts in sectioned-off piles strewn about the room. Sprx, on the other hand, had used them to create a display of sorts. Top it all off a built-in sound system in the walls, and the end result left exactly the impression Sprx was trying to leave: _Awesome_.

“I’m okay, I guess. Better now that you and Gibson are up. How about you?”

Sprx grimaced. “Still sore all over, and I’ve been randomly getting dizzy. Usually just when I move too quick, but sometimes it’ll go when I’m not even doing anything. Otto and Gibson say it’s because of the concussion, so y’know. _That’s_ fun.”

Chiro winced sympathetically. “That sucks, Sprx. Anything I can do for you?”

“Nah. Not unless you know how to mend shoulders. Or ribs, I’ll take either.”

“Not in my skillset, sorry.”

“Well, shucks.”

There was a small pause. Chiro got the feeling there was something Sprx wanted to say, so he waited through it patiently.

“So Kid,” Sprx began evenly, “You notice Antauri acting a little weird today, or was that just me?”

_Oh boy, here we go._ Chiro tried to refrain from putting his face in his palm, reminding himself Sprx usually filtered his concerns through suspicion and doubt. The core of this was that Sprx had noticed Antauri acting _off_ , and was worried about him. He just… had a really bad habit of framing his concern as accusations of guilt.

(While this knowledge made Sprx’s behavior less hurtful, it didn’t make it any less _exasperating_ , unfortunately.)

“Yeah, I did,” Chiro admitted. “He told me when I asked him about it that he’d felt the Power Primate being weird too, but wanted to make sure it wasn’t anything to worry about before he told us so we wouldn’t freak out. It was pretty obvious when he told me that he already felt really bad about not telling us right away, and then after finding out that it might have been what made you guys _crash_ …” Chiro shrugged sadly. “My guess is that he just feels really guilty about everything.”

Sprx looked remarkably abashed now, which hadn’t been Chiro’s goal. He hadn’t meant to finger-wag anybody, just try to explain the situation. “Geeze… I mean, yeah that makes sense, I guess. But it’s not like it would’ve really made a difference, would it? Even if we knew something was happening and that it wasn’t something to worry about, we’d have still felt it and gotten distracted, right? He shouldn’t feel bad about that…”

Chiro nodded. “I know, but it’s Antauri. I think he feels like he lied to us by not saying something.”

Sprx snorted. “That wasn’t even a lie, it was omission.” He gave a sad laugh all of a sudden. “Guess at least we don’t ever have to worry about him _actually_ lying to us, right? He’d probably implode.”

Chiro gave a sad smile of his own, feeling terrible. “Yeah, probably.”

The door opened suddenly, revealing Nova with a bowlful of popcorn. She blinked when she saw Chiro, clearly not expecting to see him.

“Oh, hey Chiro. You come to watch the movie too?”

Chiro cocked his head to the side, confused. “Movie?”

Sprx chuckled sheepishly. “Yeah, me and Nova were gonna watch something. Since that’s about all I _can_ do right now, I mean.” He gestured vaguely at his torso and head with dull irritation.

“He’s only seen the first _Steadfast_ movie, Chiro,” Nova said, marching over and seating herself next to Sprx. “Out of _five_.”

“Seriously?” Chiro balked. “I mean fair enough that’s the _best_ one, but the second’s okay and the third is actually _really_ good.” He considered for a moment. “The last two aren’t great though, so I’ll give you that.”

“Four was okay,” Nova said, swallowing a bite of popcorn. “They were milking it for Five though. I mean they were milking it by sequel _Three,_ but Five is when it got really annoyingly obvious.”

“Okay, okay, I get it,” Sprx said through a full mouth. “I’m a disgrace to action-movie buffs everywhere. He fished around the floor next to his seat for a moment, then produced the remote to activate the screen embedded in his wall. “Let’s fix that shall we?”

As the screen came to life, he turned to Chiro. “Whaddya say, Kid? Wanna watch?”

Chiro grinned and plopped down into a seat, reaching across the other two for some popcorn.

(They we’re all unconscious on top of each other by the half hour mark).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Y'know, I went into this chapter with the full intent that even though Antauri would be present, he wouldn't speak a word. Poetic indication of his current emotional state given his actions last chapter, or something. I (obviously) kept up with this through to the end, but now of course since I'm posting it I've started doubting myself. What do you guys think? Good move on my part, or would you have preferred if I'd taken a small section to examine his immediate feelings to what he'd done?


	6. Following a Broken Compass

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy 14th Anniversary to SRMTHFG! Here's a new (shorterthanIwouldlike) chapter to celebrate!

The alleyway he traversed was dark and uninhabited, and unlike his prior excursion the night sky was overcast, so there was no moon to give him away. All the same, Antauri tried to stick close to the shadows and generally be as unobtrusive as possible.

Mandarin had contacted him the evening after Sprx and Gibson woke up by radioing his private comm directly, which had taken him by surprise, somewhat. To be fair, he hadn’t really known what Mandarin had meant when he’d said he’d “be in touch,” nor had he really considered it, given how chaotic everything later became. Moreover, in addition to other system changes made after Mandarin had been deposed, the entire Team had changed their personal communication frequency. And Antauri knew for a fact that _Mandarin’s_ comm had since been damaged (though, again, to be fair he had no idea whether that was something that had been repaired in his time working for Skeleton King).

This could all be attributed, he supposed, to the time Mandarin had spent in Otto’s company back when he’d been on the Team. Clearly he’d either made repairs of his own or fashioned something for himself that he could use to send messages, and had one way or another cracked Antauri’s new comm frequency. Antauri was just relieved he’d contacted him _directly_ rather than send out a missive to the entire Team. Even trying to _imagine_ that situation made Antauri’s insides (mechanical as they were) twist.

Mandarin had at first requested they meet earlier in the evening, but Antauri had insisted they wait until dark. Mandarin had initially been suspicious of his specificity, but eventually relented. This of course meant that, yet again, Antauri was forced to sneak out of the Robot after everyone else was asleep.

Two nights in a row without a proper recharge. The amount that Antauri was pushing his luck was nothing short of terrifying.

“Why so shifty?” a voice suddenly cut through the night, making Antauri jump (his focus really was a mess these days, it was throwing his senses completely off; he allowed himself a moment of frustration). “ _You’re_ not a wanted criminal; no need to sneak about.”

Turning around, Antauri saw Mandarin reclining on the sill of a boarded-up second story window, grinning unpleasantly. “So _jumpy_ as well. Were you afraid I was going to ambush you, Antauri?”

Antauri kept his face neutral. “You simply surprised me Mandarin, that’s all.”

“Lost in thought, were you?” Mandarin asked, sneering. He leapt down from his perch. “That was always your biggest failing, Antauri; you think too much and act too little.”

Antauri frowned. “Interesting you should say that, I believe there are some who would accuse you of the reverse.”

Mandarin’s face twisted into a snarl. Antauri observed him, unaffected.

“Where is the rest of the Team?” Mandarin finally barked, making a show of looking around himself. “I don’t see them anywhere, and moreover they’re not on my scanner—”

“Where did you get a scanner?” Antauri asked, vitriol temporarily put aside in favor of inquisitiveness.

Mandarin huffed and pulled out a small device from under his cloak. It looked similar to the handheld scanners that Gibson favored, though this one was clearly an amalgamation of several different small electronics. As Antauri inspected it, curious, Mandarin said disinterestedly, “The security at the local hardware shop is _abysmal_.”

Antauri’s head snapped up, his expression caught between incredulous and disproving. “You _stole_ the parts to make this?”

Mandarin gave him a withering look. “Not at all, I purchased them with the salary I obviously have. The very same salary I’ve been using to purchase _food,_ in fact, along with various other basic amenities.”

Even after years apart, Antauri found he was far too desensitized to Mandarin’s particular brand of melodrama to feel much more than exasperation at his sarcasm. (Let the record show that he internally rolled his eyes, however.)

“It isn’t as though I had much choice in the matter,” Mandarin went on. “I needed something to keep track of all of you in case you tried anything underhanded. Not to mention… other things.”

Well that certainly wasn’t suspicious in the least. “Other things?”

“ _Other things_ ,” Mandarin repeated forcefully. “General things. Threats that may pop up in the nearby vicinity that I’d want to be alerted to. Just… general, _other_ things.”

As Antauri debated whether or not he should press that topic, Mandarin went and changed it all together.  “Now answer my question. Where is everyone else?”

Ah. Yes. That. Antauri made sure his back was straight and his posture relaxed, and in a tone that (he hoped) was firm enough to sound definitive but neutral enough to not broker extra questions, he stated evenly, “They won’t be coming.”

Mandarin stared at him for a moment, and Antauri braced himself for questions. Instead, he made a disgusted noise in the back of his throat and grumbled, “I suppose I should have expected _that_ …”

Antauri’s brow furrowed. “I’m sorry, what is that supposed to mean?”

Mandarin gave him a singularly unimpressed look. “Am I supposed to be _surprised_ that you’ve run off to try to fix things all on your own?”

“You say that as though I make a habit of it,” Antauri said, not sure if he should be offended.

Mandarin looked at him incredulously, then began listing things off with his fingers. “That time on Talmak 3, that time on Ranger 7, that time we fought that giant mouse monster – against my _explicit_ orders, may I add—”

“ _That_ was one of the first missions we’d ever gone on as a team, I panicked. It isn’t something I do _now_.”

“And yet here we are.”

Antauri frowned deeply. “If a situation calls for it, I’ll take initiative to contain the problem as much as I can, yes. I hardly find that grounds to accuse me of ‘trying to fix things all on my own.’”

 “Mm. Indeed. Tell me again, what exactly were you doing the other night when we stumbled across each other…?”

Antauri opened his mouth, then closed it.

The sides of Mandarin’s mouth twisted upwards unkindly. “Precisely.”

Antauri looked away.

“Am I to assume, then, that the rest of the Team has no idea that we’re working in conjunction with each other? Or that I’ve even returned at all?”

“What leads you to that idea?” Antauri asked, trying not to be obviously evasive.

“They’re not here when by all accounts they should be, and before you insisted we do this in _the dead of night_. Why do that unless you’re keeping secrets?”

Antauri hesitated, then finally shook his head, guilt swelling. “No. They have no idea.”

Mandarin’s brows knitted together as he turned away briefly. He didn’t look pleased with this information, but after a moment’s deliberation he nodded curtly and turned back. “Good. Keep it that way. The less they’re aware of my presence, the better.”

Antauri didn’t like the sound of that, be he was – for the moment – forced to agree. “Very well.”

Mandarin nodded again. “So do you have a transport, or shall we be walking to our potential doom?”

“This way.”

Antauri led the way back to where he’d hidden the Moon Buggy. To his knowledge, Otto hadn’t noticed anything amiss with the buggy after he’d returned it the first time, which was a relief. To be fair, he’d been severely preoccupied with his injured teammates waking up and needing to make repairs on the Fist Rockets, so the conditions of his Moon Buggies probably hadn’t been much of a thought. In a way, it was almost lucky that Krinkle had made so many alterations to the Fist Rockets, because it had allowed Antauri the opportunity to top off the buggy’s fuel for the evening’s journey. He made a resolution that he’d do so again _before_ returning it to the workshop, both in preparation for future treks (if there were any, which he hoped there weren’t) and to hopefully prevent Otto from noticing anything once his attention was no longer focused on the Fist Rockets.

When they reached the vehicle, Mandarin made a move to get into the driver’s seat. Antauri took firm hold of his shoulder and pulled him back.

Mandarin took it about as well as he’d expected. “I’m the one that can see the trails! I should drive!”

“You need to focus to see the trails,” Antauri said, giving him a small push in the direction of the passenger side (which Mandarin actively resisted). “It’ll be easier for you to do so if you don’t also have to focus on not crashing. I’ll drive.”

“I can do _both_ I’ll have you—”

“Mandarin,” Antauri said, dangerously close to becoming frustrated, “this is a Hyperforce vehicle, and it will only be driven by a Hyperforce _member_.” He crossed his arms resolutely. “Please get into the other side.”

If Antauri hadn’t already been fully robotic, the look Mandarin sent him likely would have been enough to grind his heartbeat to a halt.

After a few more seconds’ hesitation (presumably just for the sake of being stubborn), Mandarin stomped over to the passenger’s side and fell hard into the seat. He crossed his arms, angling his body away from Antauri, and glared in the opposite direction.

Antauri _outwardly_ rolled his eyes, that time.

He got in behind the wheel, and closed the hatch. Seconds later, they were off.

After a minute’s worth of driving in silence, Antauri asked, “Which way?”

“Leave the city from the southeast exit,” Mandarin grunted, not looking at him. “Don’t bother me until we’re past its borders.”

Antauri was fine with this.

In the time it took to reach the city limits, Mandarin had slowly uncurled from the moody ball of sulk he’d bent himself into and entered a lotus position in his seat. As they entered Shuggazoom’s outskirts, he pointed out the windshield. “Head that way.” Antauri did as requested.

There were several more minutes where they drove in silence. Then, slowly, Mandarin said, “You’ve changed form since last I saw you, Antauri.”

Antauri briefly glanced over to Mandarin before returning his eyes to his driving. “So have you,” he said lightly.

He _felt_ Mandarin scowl more than he saw it. “I never agreed to that, you know,” he said, and his tone was so _bitter_ that Antauri didn’t doubt it. “That undead _imbecile_ lured me back to his ship under false pretenses, and then, then…” Mandarin made a series of incensed gestures. “…turned me into _that._ ”

Skeleton King lied? How shocking. (Antauri wisely didn’t comment on that.)

“Why do you look, er… ‘normal,’ I suppose, again?” he asked instead.

To his surprise, Mandarin’s anger faltered, replaced by something Antauri couldn’t quite pin down. “When Skeleton King decided he preferred a second-rate copy over myself, he evidently decided to take back the… _additions_ he’d provided. I was taken away by some formless and—” he actually _shuddered,_ which Antauri found mildly alarming, “—drained of the implants.”

Antauri raised his brow. “‘Drained’?”

“I’d been pumped to the gills with formless material,” Mandarin snapped curtly. Antauri noticed he was slowly curling back into his ball. He must be getting annoyed. “So yes, _drained_.” He turned to him fully all of a sudden, and gave him a look. “Now why do _you_ look completely different?”

Antauri didn’t say anything for moment (no doubt further annoying Mandarin in the process), before finally speaking. “I explained that Skeleton King was attempting to awaken a Dark One, yes?”

Mandarin nodded.

“He… succeeded.”

“He _what?_ ” Mandarin balked, pushing himself forward in his seat.

Antauri stared forward, watching the grounded whiz underneath the buggy as it sped forward. “Do you remember learning of that particular ritual, back on Koraladol? The one that focuses the perpetuator’s entire being into Power Primate energy?”

Mandarin’s expression twisted, disbelieving and (just perhaps) a bit horrified. “ _No_ …”

“The egg needed to be sealed,” Antauri said quietly. “My spirit managed to anchor itself to Chiro in the chaos. He transferred me to this robotic body afterwards.”

Mandarin tilted his head. “‘ _Robotic_ ’? As in—?”

“I am now fully mechanical, yes.”

There was a pause that stretched for several seconds. Finally, Mandarin muttered, “It’s shorter than your last body,” as he flopped back into his seat.

Antauri glanced at him out of the corner of his eye. “So is yours,” he replied lightly. As Mandarin turned to give him an irritated look, Antauri gave a small shrug. “Truly though, this body is about the same size as my organic one.”

Mandarin’s face scrunched. “No it isn’t; you and I used to stand shoulder to shoulder—”

“You’re _taller_ than you used to be, Mandarin,” Antauri said. He considered, then backtracked, “Not as tall as you _were_ , clearly, but you’re taller than you were the last time you were…” He cast around for words, “ _properly proportioned_.”

Mandarin had a strange expression on his face. “You’re still around the same height as the rest of the Team?” he clarified.

Antauri offered him a marginally confused look. “I suppose so…?”

“I am… _this_ much taller than _all_ of you?” He was quiet for a second, and then to Antauri’s utter disbelief he slowly began to look pleased. “Well. _Hm_.”

Antauri was continually boggled how one individual could _possibly_ be so petty.

They drove in quiet for several minutes more before Mandarin suddenly sat bolt-upright in his seat, drawing Antauri’s attention.

“Mandarin?”

“Shut up.” He was staring intently out the windshield, eyes tracking (searching for?) something Antauri couldn’t see. After a moment he snapped, “Stop the vehicle!”

Alarmed, Antauri complied. Mandarin had thrown the buggy’s hatch open before it had even come to a complete halt, floating out swiftly. He remained suspended in the air as he scanned the area, movements becoming more agitated the longer he looked.

“It’s _gone._ ”

Antauri looked up at him from the buggy, startled. “What?”

“The trail we were tracking!” Mandarin snarled, still furiously surveying the area. “And whatever’s at the end of it! It’s _gone!_ ”

* * *

Hammerspace was a _gift_ , as far as Valina was concerned.

When her master had relocated her to the Zone of Wasted years, he’d been generous enough to provide her with some tomes on magic so she could continue to hone her skills. She suspected they were in fact _his_ old tomes from back when he was mortal, and as such she considered them the most precious objects in her possession. _Hammerspace_ had been one of the first things she’d taught herself from them.

The term referred to a mini pocket-dimension that was created and maintained by a singular individual, most frequently as a place of holding. The benefit – beyond the fact that it meant she never had to worry about lugging cumbersome items from place to place, which make no mistake was incredibly handy – was that once something was placed within her designated hammerspace, it meant that only people with the corresponding knowledge could take it back out. It was, effectively, the simplest and fastest way to guard items while still keeping them close.

The moment she was able to pry the location of the master’s skull from the monkey’s filthy mouth, she transferred it directly to her hammerspace. For good measure, she cast a small concealment spell on it as well. An unnecessary precaution, perhaps, but given what it was she was protecting she had a difficult time labeling _any_ precaution as “unnecessary.” The weight on her mind eased somewhat knowing it was there.

The tomes, speaking of such, had been what she’d settled on as a starting point for her investigation. If she could perhaps find recordings of an instance similar to what she’d experienced, she might be able to form a plan of action, or at least a springboard of one. Though mostly concerned with spell work, there were the occasional history and philosophy books scattered throughout the collection; certainly at least _one_ of them would have some useful information…

Unfortunately, this made a second pair of eyes a resource too useful to ignore. Which meant that – _tragically_ – her time spent with the simian was far from over.

The monkey was, predictably, making a fuss about it.

“You went on _endlessly_ ,” he hissed, “ _ENDLESSLY_ about how we had to drop everything to resurrect the master, and you’re putting it on _hold?!”_

The simian tugged indignantly at the pink flame around his neck, trotting to keep up as they marched down the halls of her temple. “‘ _We ought to be working to resurrect the master, Mandarin!’_ ” he repeated in a high, mocking voice. “ _‘We must resurrect the Skeleton King before it’s too late, Mandarin! Oh wait! I’ve felt something strange that I can’t immediately pinpoint the origin of! We must stop everything to investigate it because it made me **uneasy**_ —’”

He was cut off suddenly as Valina sent a spell like an electrical current pumping through his body. Pleasantly, the spell also melded his lips together.

“I am not postponing the Master’s resurrection because I feel ‘ _uneasy_ ,’” she snapped, stopping to turn and glare down at him. “Properly resurrecting the master requires magic. Whatever this is cannot only alter magic, but ignore the laws that govern it! You admitted you felt it as well; did that truly not give you even a _moment’s_ pause?” 

The monkey glared defiantly, but made no attempt to argue. Not that he could expect to make much of a point _anyway_ with his mouth sealed as it was, but Valina doubted that would have stopped him if he’d truly had something to say.

“We’re going to do research first, to make sure _whatever_ this is will not harm the master as we resurrect him,” she said firmly, resuming her stride. “We shall proceed in restoring him only _after_ we’ve confirmed such.”

“You’re a _hypocrite_ , Witch,” the monkey spat, finally succeeding in wrenching his mouth open (it was truly a shame that particular spell wore off so quickly). Valina glared, but deemed a verbal retort beneath her.

The temple Valina resided in had been abandoned centuries before she’d arrived, which unfortunately had meant much of the space was derelict and crumbling. In the years she’d spent there she’d managed to create a decent enough living space for herself, or at least she’d like to think so. She’d cobbled together a private quarters, a washroom of sorts, and – her current destination – a study.  

As they approached the door she flicked her wrist, and it swung open. Once inside, the monkey was flung out of the way with another flick, and the door shut behind them. She selected a stack of books at random, and began shifting through them for volumes she suspected would contain the most pertinent information. Her “library” wasn’t large by any means, but it had enough books that trying to go through them one by one wouldn’t be time-efficient.

The simian pushed himself upright, grumbling at having been unceremoniously chucked halfway across the room. Or perhaps he was grumbling because the tether he was attached to had fastened him to the leg of a table. She ignored him either way.

When she was satisfied with the stack she had accumulated, she gathered the pile into her arms, walked over to the monkey, and set the lot in front of him. Had they been less treasurable, she would have dropped the stack _on top of_ him, but oh well. Maybe she could do that with some rocks later, or something.

“What, _precisely_ ,” he asked, eyeing the books she’d given him with dubious disdain, “am I supposed to be looking for in these things?”

“Anything that discusses the laws of magic, what could potentially bypass them, and how it would affect magic as a whole,” she said over her shoulder, skimming through one of the older books. No, not quite what she was looking for. She snapped it shut and set it aside, selecting another. “Or anything that describes the feeling we experienced, and a possible explanation for what it might be.”

The monkey grumbled again. She turned around to find him _not_ opening any of the books, or really making any effort to assist in researching at all. Scowling, she made a squeezing gesture in his direction. He gagged suddenly and began grabbing at his neck as the pink flame tightened.

“Do you _want_ the master to be harmed as we try to resurrect him?” she demanded. “Because that’s the risk we may run if we don’t sort this out.” She tightened her invisible grip, and the monkey began kicking his legs uselessly as he clawed at the pink flame. “Well? _Do you?_ ”

“ _No_ ,” he finally managed to gag out. “ _I don’t.”_

She let the flame fall slack. The wheezing sound he made as his throat was released reminded her of air being let out of a balloon. As he massaged his throat, she snapped, “Get to work, then!”

He offered her one last glare before moodily selecting a book and rifling through it.

Satisfied, she turned and resumed picking through her collection. After a moment she’d gather together a stack of her own, which she carried off to her usual reading nook.

“If you bend the pages or scuff the covers, or damage these books in _any_ way,” she said icily, cracking open the first tome on her stack, “then so help me Simian I will _flay you alive_. There’s a knife in my bedside drawer I keep sharp for just such an occasion, in fact.”

* * *

Empty. Hm. _Empty_.

No screams, no cries. No pleading. Silence. _Empty._

Something had been inside before. Used to fill. Given. It should still be there.

Empty empty _empty_.

Hm. Hm hm hm hmmmm. That must be fixed.

Legs twitched. Once, twice, then moved properly. Pushed it upright. Steady steps. Where had it gone? It hadn’t been given permission to leave. Had to go back in.

There was a trail. The scent of fear, scrambling around. Hard to follow, but there.

Its crankshaft slowly rotated in a circle as it moved. The painted face on its front couldn’t see, but it didn’t need to.

The fear-trail led to a long flight of stairs. There was a trapdoor at the top.

Wouldn’t be _empty_ for long.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If I may complain for a second, this chapter was HELL. There was not a single moment during its writing process where it was not dragging its feet. There was a whole section I had to cut because it just was NOT turning out. Oh well. I'll fit it in next chapter, I guess.


End file.
